


Disowned

by kittypox



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Dad Thace, Dark Keith, Galra Keith (Voltron), Loss, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Questionable use of quintessence, Torture, War, all characters present, brain washing, kuro - Freeform, pseudo parenting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-09-19 13:23:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9442514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittypox/pseuds/kittypox
Summary: The ultimatum was clear and simple: betray the resistance and be reunited with his son or die a traitor and have his son used regardless. The choice is obvious to Thace, but he knows team Voltron will not give up one of their own so easily. There may be a way to salvage the situation, but the Galra have more than one back handed card to play. Meanwhile, Shiro is determined to do anything to get Keith back.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This particular AU takes place about 5 years after season 2 (minus the Shiro disappearing bit). I personally think that taking on Zarkon would be a many year endeavor that would require a lot of freedom fighting before getting to the ultimate battle. The pilots are still new to their lions and they don't have much in the way of allies, so give them 5 or 10 years to really make a formidable resistance. By then, they would have the numbers as well as enough fighting experience to have unlocked most of their lions' secrets. 
> 
> For age references, that would make Pidge 19; Hunk, Lance, and Keith 26; and Shiro 30.

Prologue

A siren was blaring somewhere overhead, accompanied by a distracting red, whirring light. Sirens were bad. Sirens were the signal that their plan had been an utter failure and it was time to cut their losses and flee. This particular siren seemed louder, slightly more obnoxious than the usual warning Red gave when it was time to turn tail. Maybe it was a sign that the damage he was taking was reaching critical point.

Keith took a breath and pressed a hand to the communication line in his helmet. Even with a head jumbled from the beating he took, he knew he was in need of assistance. 

"Guys? I need some help."

There was static over the line, broken occasionally by Allura's frantic voice asking for confirmation that they were all well and a chorus of demands for a wormhole. He spoke again, but his words were lost in the white noise. No one heard. There was a crack in his helmet that hadn't been there last he remembered, so Keith guessed that his communication line had been damaged in the fray. 

"Magnificent..."

Keith rolled onto his side on the floor. Somewhere along the way he had been dislodged from his chair. The belt must have snapped from all the battering they had taken, he surmised, hissing as his shoulder snapped ominously. Maybe that was when his helmet had cracked. Ignoring the pain, he pushed himself to his knees and began to crawl towards the central control panel. The lion was on her side, that much was obvious with how he had ended sprawled on the left control panel. A jerk of the control sticks yielded no results and no matter how he stomped on the pedals the gears would not move. He was immobile.

The siren continued blaring angrily. Keith tapped the tele communicator. A window popped open briefly, filled with static, then cut out just as quickly. He would not allow panic to take hold; paladins didn't panic. His heart did begin to beat just a tad faster as he pressed down on the intercom and his voice boomed over the otherwise quiet line.

"Guys?" He called, hitting keys hopelessly. "Guys, I'm down. I need an extraction. Allura? Shiro?"

The frequency broke into static again.

"Shit." If there was anything at hand to throw, he would have thrown it. 

\---------------------

The field was an absolute mess. They had been in countless battles before, but none so destructive that Shiro could recall. They were wading in debris from the destroyed Galra battleships and drones. Every second some hunk of metal was crashing against his windshield and Shiro had a slight concern that, with enough battering, all that detritus could deal them some real harm.

"Keep an eye out, team." He advised. "Some of this stuff is big and can----"

There was a loud 'oof' over the radio line that sounded distinctly like hunk. 

"Team?"

A barrage of anxious calls flooded his helmet and he winced, shaking his head as if he could dislodge the cries. 

"Calm down." He demanded in his stern, no nonsense voice. The line immediately went quiet. "We're clearly outnumbered here and fighting a losing battle. Everyone get back to the ship. Princess, have a portal ready for us when we get back. Something tells me that the Galra will be in hot pursuit."

Allura's face flashed briefly on his telecom. "Roger."

The lions appeared in haste,weaving through scraps as they made for their docks. Shiro remained for a time, standing guard as his teammates made it to safety. And he waited. In the distance he could see one of the larger Galra warships turn about, surely on it's way towards the Castle of Lions. Seconds were growing precious but still they were one short.

"Keith?"

He reached out to the young man's personal telecom, but received only static. His breath hitched slightly. He pressed harder on the telecom button, as if the strength of his touch might somehow strengthen his connection to the red paladin.

"Keith. Keith respond. Now."

He released the key. Static.

"Guys, Keith isn't responding. Where did you last see him? He might be in trouble."

Lance made an unappreciated comment about how typical this was of Keith, but Shiro ignored him in favor of Pidge's guidance.

"Go to the downed battleship on the far right." She said breathlessly. "While we were taking out the canon from the big ship, he flew off to buy us some time. Last I saw, he was blasting through a drone fleet."

Lance _was_ right; it was like Keith to take on an entire drone fleet on his own. Shy and quiet as he was, Keith was very much a 'pack' thinker and he protected his pack fiercely. 

"I'm going after him." Shiro announced, already speeding in the direction Pidge had indicated. "Allura, keep that wormhole open as long as you can."

The princess' pinched face appeared suddenly on his telecom. "Shiro, you must act quickly. The battleships are moving towards us and our shields were significantly damaged in the attack." As if to drive her point home, her image shook, the background glowing from the deflection of a canon blast. She shook her head, exasperated. "Shiro, you must hurry!"

"I will!" 

He threw on the boosters, slamming clumsily into a drone ship's errant wing as he raced to the far side of the battle field. There were ships flanking him, but they were only drones. Minor annoyances that he did not have the time for. With a single roll and flash of his lion's jaw beam, he sliced through them.

There. he could see the ship where the drones were coming from. An endless swarm of the gnats were emerging, all set on his course. And there, just a tad further, laying limp and lifeless on the side of the Galra battleship the drones protected, was the red lion. 

"Keith? Keith, do you copy?"

He hadn't expected an answer and was not surprised when he received none. With a loud curse he charged through the oncoming drones, slashing and blasting what he could and ignoring the rest. There was no time for frivolous games of pursue and subdue. He could not care less if the drone fleet survived, so long as he retrieved Keith and the red lion. 

Static burst to life on his intercom for a split second as he touched down, but there was no follow up noise when he called out again. The red lion must be in critical condition if its communications system was malfunctioning so badly, Shiro thought, hastily scooping the smaller lion in Black's mouth.

\--------

When he later thought back on his return to the castle, Shiro could recall very few details. Everything was blurred, black, or completely absent. There were drones, he knew that but he couldn't actually recall flying through them. There might have been a blast from the warship. The lion had taken some kind of hit at some point on his return trip. He had heard Keith. That he knew. He could not have imagined that. He had been rambling nonsense on his intercom and there was a split second of sound from the red lion. It had to have been Kieth. There hadn't been words, none that he recalled at least, but there had to have been. It had to have been Keith.

Pidge met him in the hanger, barely waiting for the black lion to skid to a halt before running up and banging her fist against the red lion's sealed mouth.

"She won't open up!"

Shiro emerged from his lion, jumping carelessly to the ground and laying a hand to the thick metal. "Keith may be in critical condition. You know how protective she is of him."

"That makes no sense--why won't she let us in then? We're here to help!" As if to emphasize her annoyance, Pidge kicked the lion, hissing and cursing immediately after at the pain she caused herself.

Shiro was tempted to reduce himself to the same pointless actions, but if Keith was in fact in critical condition then they needed to get in. No amount of kicking or hitting would convince Red to open. After carefully pushing Pidge aside, he placed both hands on the lion's snout and concentrated.

"Listen. You know that we're here to help. Keith is our teammate, one of our own. Your dedication to protecting your paladin is admirable, but you've done your job. Now it's our turn to help. We--"

The eyes of the red lion glowed suddenly, her insides rumbling for a moment, before her jaw dropped open. As Shrio and Pidge took a step inside a strange, high pitched whine whistled from the lion's insides, the unsettling sound of gears grinding angrily against one another. 

Pidge hesitated,face twisting in confusion. "What was that?"

"I-I don't know." Shiro was equally confused. "I've never heard one of them make that noise before."

It was a mystery for another time. They rushed in, calling for Keith. More than once they tripped on pieces of debris that had come loose during the battle. There was a good deal of damage, Pidge noted with worry. She had never seen any of their lions take such a beating, especially not on the inside.

She reached out to grab Shiro's arm, to warn him of the dangers they could be walking into, with a lion falling apart inside out, but he was far ahead of her, beating on the cockpit door before slicing through with his tech arm when it refused to budge.

"Shiro, wait!"

"Keith!"

In the back of Shiro's mind he registered Pidge's worried call, but he could not wait. Practicality demanded that he pause, assess his own safety, and move on from there, but he refused to listen. He had never felt so frightened. Perhaps he _had_ felt that frightened, far, far back, when he had been fighting for his life in the Galra arena, but he had never feared so much for another person. Of course, this wasn't just any person. 

The last bit of the cockpit door gave way with a powerful kick and he tumbled in, righting his footing as he scrambled for the pilot's seat.

\------------

There had been too much static on the communication lines to garner much of anything, but when Lance and Hunk appeared in the red lion's hangar they knew something was gravely amiss. They entered just as Pidge ran out of the lion's mouth and slammed herself down in front of a console. Her fingers moved like fire over the keyboard as she alternated between screeching commands at the piece of equipment and addressed a voice speaking out of her ear piece.

Lance approached warily, looking between her and the red lion. "Pidge, what's going on?"

Her eyes flicked to him for a split second before she returned to her work.

"Retrieving radio feed! Retrieving log of electronic signatures! Shiro, calm down!"

The two latecomers shared a confused glance before deciding it was better to leave Pidge to her work. The issue appeared to be with the red lion, so they moved to look examine it.

Before they reached the open mouth, Hunk faltered a moment. "Does she seem...different to you?"

"Different?" Lance cocked his head to the side, eyeing the face of the red lion. 

"Yeah, like...quieter. More still. Dead....even."

Now that Hunk had brought it up....the lion did seem different in some way. He couldn't quite put his finger on it at first, but the longer Lance stared, the more anxious he became. What was it, he wondered, stepping closer. He laid a hand to her metal, hoping for a clue.

Mimicking the gesture, Hunk also laid his hand to the lion. It felt strange, even through the layers of fabric covering his hands. It felt cold. Unmovable. It felt nothing like his own lion who, despite being large and unyielding, was also warm and welcoming to his touch. The red lion seemed indifferent. Perhaps that was part of Keith's personality shining through in the lion. 

The paladins pulled their hands away, sharing another anxious look.

"I don't know what it is," Lance began, rubbing thoughtfully at his chin, "but she definitely seems different."

Hunk nodded in agreement. "Quieter, like I said." 

"Quieter..."

"Like she's...dead."

"She isn't dead." Shiro's voice boomed suddenly. 

They pivoted on their heels, startled, and found the man looming in the open mouth. Instinctively, they took a step back, frightened by the haggard expression on Shiro's face. 

Shiro pinned the two paladins with a hard look before stumbling over to Pidge. He was a mess; he couldn't keep himself together. He was falling all over himself and if he didn't snap out of it he would lose himself to the panic. 

If Pidge noticed his weakness, she didn't let on. She barely looked up as Shiro leaned heavily over her shoulder, scrutinizing the logs she had pulled up. The logs told a worrying story. Details of how many hits the lion had taken, how many laser and blaster emissions she let off, how many systems went down before the lion crashed.

"There!" Pidge slammed her finger onto the screen, highlighting a line of the log. Shiro leaned in closer, resting a hand on her shoulder. She fidgeted under the weight he was putting on her, but he did not notice.

"God..." The man muttered, snapping to attention and covering his eyes with his hand. The cold metal served as a grounding point and he focused on the there and then. He needed to move forward, but god was he close to breaking.

"Alright, what the heck!"

Lance's voice broke through the cloud of panic beginning to descend upon his brain.

The paladin stalked over and slammed his hands on his hips. "Why are you freaking out?" He looked accusingly at Shiro. "Where's Keith? And why is his lion acting all weird and dead?"

Shiro took a deep, calming breath. When he was confident that he could speak without his voice wavering, he fixed Lance and Hunk with a look so grave they flinched. "The red lion isn't dead. She's inactive. She's gone back into stasis."

Hunk turned back to the lion. "Stasis? How is that possible? If she's connected to Keith's mind..." He trailed off. 

Shiro could see that the beginnings of understanding were forming in both of their minds. 

The unspoken truth made Lance bristle. The young man stared accusingly at him. "What are you talking about, Shiro? Why is the lion in stasis? Where is Keith?"

Shiro looked to the ground. He could not stand to look back at the lion, not when he knew what was inside. And what wasn't inside. With a heavy sigh, he spoke the words he had dreaded speaking since they had first formed Voltron.

"Keith isn't here. He's been taken by the Galra."


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all and thank you for the very warm welcome! I'm really happy you guys are enjoying the story so far and are intrigued! Also, I apologize for the tags. I was having a hell of a time trying to get things tagged and after ditzing around for 15 minutes I gave up. So yes, multi-chapter Sheith fic!

Despite the implications of the deep rooted treachery that had been wormed out of their ranks, Zarkon was pleased. Not only had they found the seed spreading the resistance disease, but they had captured one of the paladins of Voltron as well. It was shame that their ships had been too damaged to retrieve the lion itself, but the drone soldiers had dragged the boy from the ship and presented him as the prize he was. Next time, they would score a grander victory with finer rewards, but for now he was pleased to have not just the resistance leader but one of the more bothersome paladins. 

The question then was what to do with him.

"If I may offer my opinion, Emperor Zarkon, I suggest executing the paladin immediately. We have no use for him."

The emperor hummed, settling his heavy gaze upon Sendak. He was inclined to execute the boy as well, although he suspected Sendak's suggestion was fueled largely by his long lasting fury at being captured and jettisoned into space by the Voltron paladins. 

Sensing that he held the emperor's ear, Sendak continued. "The paladins may come for him, but it is wiser to kill the boy. Without their teammate, their lion is useless. They will not be able to form Voltron unless they find a new paladin. They will be weak and we will be able to subdue them."

"A wise observation." Zarkon rumbled, sitting back on his throne. 

He was ready to execute the order and be done with the matter when he saw movement from his side. Haggar approached, bowing her head mindfully. He was used to her thrusting her nose into matters of state, regardless of her position of state, but she was wise counsel. 

"If I may also make a suggestion, my lord."

He nodded. "Proceed."

"Commander Sendak is correct; we may rob the paladins of their lion should we execute the boy; however, they may just as easily find a new paladin." On the other side of the chamber the commander tensed, unable to disguise his grimace of rage. "We could use the boy rather than dispose of him. With him alive, Voltron would still be short a lion, but they would not be able to replace him so easily. The lion will still have a bond with him."

"So you suggest we keep him prisoner?" Sendak snapped. "They would come for him at any time."

"Not as a prisoner." Haggar said calmly, addressing her lord and master. "As one of us."

A brief silence filled the large room as they ruminated on the implications of the druid's suggestion. The Galra blood flowing in the paladin's veins was no secret to them, but their prior attempts to turn him to their side had failed. 

"How do you suggest we achieve this?" Zarkon asked, a dangerous edge to his voice, warning that if her answer was not pleasing she would suffer for it. 

The tone did not deter her. Beneath her hood, she smiled. Clearly, she had spent some time devising her scheme and she was well pleased with it. "I have developed an alternative use for the quintessence that we have harvested. Now, even the bi product and unfit quintessence may be put to good use."

"And that use would that be?" Sendak sneered.

"I suggest," Haggar continued with a pleased lilt to her voice, "that we not only use the paladin, but the traitor Thace to cripple Voltron."

"As experiments." Sendak interrupted once more, losing his poise. "Haven't you wasted enough of our time with your fruitless projects? We don't need more beasts that fail to capture Voltron."

"You dare?!"

Even the highest ranking of his soldiers were not above petty squabbles, but over the years Zarkon had grown tired of hearing their disputes. Each time they entered his presence silver words dripped from their lips about grand plans to capture Voltron and destroy the paladins, or they came upon bowed knees with excuses for their abject failures. They had lost years in the fight against Voltron and their losses grew by the day. His patience was growing short with all of his minions. 

The emperor stood and immediately both commander and druid fell to their knees in subservience. 

"Seeing as neither of you have successfully captured Voltron, you cannot speak against her, Sendak." He turned his golden gaze from the commander to the druid. "Tell me how you would make use of the paladin and the traitor."

Haggar kept her head bowed in apology for her outburst and carried on. "With the power of quintessence we can now manipulate the minds of those whom we please. Lieutenant Thace was loyal to his band of fellow traitors--"

"And even under your interrogation he did not yield." Sendak interrupted.

"Then we must supply him with cause to betray the resistance." Haggar persisted.

"And that cause would be?"

"His son."

Another hush fell over the room, this one considerably longer. In his mind, Sendak jeered at the druid's ignorance. As the forefront leaders of the Galra empire they all knew that Thace had no offspring. And if he did, the child was very well hidden and not likely to ever be found. Traitor that he was, Sendak would give his lieutenant this: he was thorough and discreet in his handlings. It had taken them well over ten years to discover his treachery and living amongst his enemies to boot. Whatever idiocy the witch was proposing now would surely meet with the emperor's disapproval. 

For a time, Sendak was certain that Haggar would be reprimanded and sent away, as she should have been ages ago, but the longer the emperor stood with eyes trained on her and considered, the less confident he grew. 

At last the lord offered the obvious fact: "Thace has no children. What son do you speak of?"

Her mouth quirked confidently. "The red paladin."

\----------------------------------

The latest blast of dark magic that had been aimed at his chest had torn through his armor and pierced his flesh deeply. With each breath he took, he could feel his underclothing stick with his blood. He had no way of knowing how bad the wound was, but he could feel the blood trickling down to his boots. Surely a bad sign. Still, the pain was ebbing and he was once again able to focus his eyes and take in his surroundings.

They were dragging this out far longer than Thace had expected. He had known the consequences, should he be caught. For years he waited for his inevitable capture and torture. It was a miracle it hadn't happened sooner, he thought. Ten or so years of spying, thwarting, sabotaging...it was exhausting, when he dwelled upon it. The only consolation he could have was that his death would be swift. Emperor Zarkon had no tolerance for traitors. The few comrades that had been caught had been immediately terminated. 

Some were interrogated. He was being held for that very purpose. Naturally they would want to try and glean what they could from him, but Thace was proud to say that he was a rock. No matter how they beat and battered him, he did not bend. He had nothing to lose except his life, and he was ready and willing to sacrifice himself for the greater good.

Still...he thought that the druids would have given up by then. A week was a long time to keep a traitor alive, especially one that was not talking. It was a waste of their time. So why keep him alive, Thace wondered. What use did he have for them?

He laid his head back against the table, shutting his eyes. He would find out soon enough. He ought to save up his strength for whatever butchery they were planning next. 

\---------------------------

"You are strong willed," Haggar murmured, watching her coven pour their dark energy into the traitor, "but there are ways to break even the strongest."

She lifted her hand, signaling for her druids to cease. The man collapsed against the table, chest heaving and mouth foaming. They were only playing with the traitor, rattling him and weakening him for the true procedure, but she took great enjoyment in seeing his pain. She glided to a table tucked behind the former lieutenant's head which had been carefully stocked with vials of quintessence. Her tests had all been successful to degrees even she had not expected, but what she would attempt that day was slightly more complicated than altering a memory. 

She picked up a large vial of quintessence and eyed the remaining six containers. It would be a lengthy process to not only fabricate memories, but to fabric an entire half of a life with all of the intricate details those memories entailed. They would need every ounce of the quintessence they had and more. 

On the table, Thace pulled against his restraints, straining to gain a view of Haggar. She was the one he needed to fear. He needed to know what she was about so he could prepare himself. The sight of the quintessence, and in such large amounts, warned him that he was about to experience a world of pain he was not yet acquainted with. 

Taking a deep breath, he turned his attention to the other druids in the room. There was nothing to be told with their faces hidden by the hideous masks. Perhaps the worst torture of all was that he had to wait to find out just what they were planning. Each little sound or subtle movement they made caused his heart to leap and his mind to whirl, desperate to know what they were about. At last the old witch stepped into his view again.

Haggar leaned over the table, her hair falling to the sides of Thace's face. They were eye to eye, nose to chin. She grimaced in rage, thinking of the years they had harbored this traitor and all he had done to prevent the emperor from retrieving Voltron. 

"This is far more than you deserve." She hissed, raising her hands. The tips of her fingers glowed from the quintessence she had dipped them into. 

Thace jerked his head furtively, unable to avoid her touch. The feel of the quintessence dipped fingers against his face made his hair stand on end. Sparks danced along his skin, reacting to the powerful chemical. Over the years the druids had found a way to harvest the quintessence and refine it into a near perfect blend. Even the waste was so fine it could be used in healing remedies. The blasts that they used on him before were nothing but bi product, but what Haggar laid to his skin then was nothing short of pure, refined, grade A quintessence. 

It would destroy him.

The man relaxed his body, closing his eyes and jutting his chin to the ceiling. If he was to die, he would die as a soldier. No, not as a soldier, as a freedom fighter. He feared no witch or emperor, not even death. 

The air felt as if it were humming, undulating with the power the druids were charging. 

_This is it._

The first wave of quintessence laced energy that flowed into his mind tore a scream from him so fierce he felt his throat bleed. Saliva poured from the sides of his mouth in a froth, body jerking spasmodically. Thoughts were difficult to hold onto; the longer the energy flowed through him, the more he found his mind drifting. There was pain, but it slowly slipped from the forefront of his mind until it was nothing but an occasional throbbing annoyance in his head as he thought back. 

His mind was wandering and he could not even hang onto his fear of what the druids were doing, digging through his memories. He traveled back in his memories, years passing by in instants. He was young again, a fit young man enlisting in the military to serve his people. In no time at all he was moving through the ranks, proving his worth with his wit, cunning, and skills. 

It was surreal; they were memories, Thace _knew_ they were memories, but they were so tangible that he thought that if he had the capability to reach out and try and touch, they would become real beneath his fingertips. 

_Don't lose yourself._

Whatever they were about, he had to stay alert. Even as he watched his young self moving through life he could feel the insidious touch of the druid's magic, infecting and corrupting. Familiar scenes suddenly looked foreign, people he had never seen before morphed into life. 

_A trick._

A spear of pain burst at his temple,accompanied by a crackle of quintessence laced energy. Light blossomed behind his eyelids and a new memory shifted into place. He recognized the worn walls and furniture of his first battleship quarters. Something was different though...there was more rubbish than he recalled having. Small blankets draped over every piece of furniture; used food packets were scattered across the tables. The entire suite echoed with...crying?

Not his cries, Thace knew. These were the weak, high pitched screams of an infant in distress. That was most certainly out of place. Never had there been a child in his quarters. Very few soldiers had offspring on the battleships and the few that had been born aboard he had never seen.

...Or perhaps he had. 

Wading through the mess of garbage, his younger self went to the bedroom where the agitated wailing was coming from. There was a squalling, squirming purple bundle laying on his cot that he did not recognize. It was tiny; tinier than a normal new born Galra. He was almost certain he had never seen the infant before. But his younger self picked the bundle up regardless, holding it close and shushing it. 

_This is mine._

The idea echoed in his mind. Perhaps he did recognize the infant. In fact, he was sure he did. The tiny hands, stubby ears, the patches of pale light skin dotting the otherwise lilac flesh...he knew those details intimately. That child was his. It was his tiny, hybrid infant that he had fought so hard to keep secret. Those large familiar eyes looked up at him, adoring and imploring. 

Of course, that was his son. How could he have forgotten. His precious son was the light of his life. He had deserted his battleship post to hide his infant son amongst the peoples Zarkon had not yet enslaved. 

He would do anything for his dear son.


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone has a breaking point...and they found his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Torture warning! Please be advised and read on with caution.

The detainment was lasting far too long. It had been two weeks, so far as Thace could tell. Perhaps longer. There was no way to monitor the passing of time in his tiny cell. It was a windowless, lightless place designed to break him and it was doing a decent job driving him mad. When they drew him from his cage, he tried desperately to glean information from his surroundings. Alas, the halls looked the same, the faces appeared the same. Everything, for as hard as he had worked, appeared to march ever on, uninterrupted. It was a crushing disappointment. 

He would not have to ruminate on his failure for long. Two weeks of quintessence fueled torture was wearing his body and mind paper thin. Everyday, he thought that he had finally reached the precipice where his spirit or body would break. Of course, the druids would not allow that. They had gotten nothing from him in terms of information, so then he was held purely for entertainment purposes. He would be an example for all other traitors to the Galra empire. Scars covered his body now, still glowing with the faint purple of the powerful quintessence that had been used against him. Perhaps the quintessence was the only thing keeping him alive at the moment. It would be an ironic turn of fate, were that true.

When they came for him that day, Thace did not fight. He had long stopped fighting against the inevitable. He had not the strength or the stamina to maintain anything but his brave face now. The fight had left him, likely for good. 

The lack of struggle surely pleased the druids. They made no sound and uttered no word as they grabbed him by the forearms and hauled him to his feet. His legs wavered a moment, weak from lack of use and poor nutrition. Internally, Thace chastised himself for the display of weakness....but a small part of him also prayed that that day would be his last. If he were lucky, the druids would at last be done with him. He could find some peace then. The role he played, however small, had made some difference. Voltron was back in the hands of the true paladins, Emperor Zarkon was quickly losing his hold upon his universal empire, and still his son remained safe. He could die at peace knowing all of that.

But something unusual happened that made Thace's heart begin to hammer anxiously. As they entered the wing reserved for the druids and their magics, the guards led him past the chamber they usually took him to. Instead of the torture chamber, they took him to an interrogation room, forcing him to sit before strapping his arms and legs into place. 

"What is this?" He asked the druid nearest him. "You aren't going to try and get me to talk again, are you?"

If that was their plan, Thace thought that his mind might completely collapse in on itself.

The druid he had addressed said nothing, instead moving aside so that a familiar face could drift into his view. Thace grimaced, as he always did when the witch entered. She was not always present at his sessions, but when she was, the violence done to him was ten times worse. He had offended her personally with his treachery and she made certain he felt her wrath. 

"Go on then." He said firmly. "Be done with it already."

The folds of the witch's face lifted as she smiled, her golden eyes narrow. "We will not be continuing with our routine activities." She hissed, an unnerving pleasantness to her voice.

"What then? Is it to be death at last?"

"You would be useless to us in death. You may not have broken yet, but I have not used all of my resources on you."

Thace grinned, a bit of his spirit returning. "By all means, try as you will." Let the druids ply their trade on him. It would only rush him into death faster. They were utter fools if they thought that his body would hold out for so long under the concerted efforts of their torture.

Something was wrong though. Haggar continued to stare at him, smug grin plastered on her thinning lips. She likely _did_ know that his body would not withstand another round of torture. She had other plans, malicious plans that would not break his body, not even his mind, just his spirit. And, as he had invited her, she would try it.

He would not be swayed by whatever poisonous words she uttered, Thace swore to himself. The druids spoke lies and dealt in deception. No word or deed from them could be trusted. Whatever silver tongue promises or threats she made, he would not bend. There was nothing she could say that would crumble his resolve.

Or so he thought.

"Tell me, former lieutenant Thace," she drawled, stepping to his side and forcing her face close, pinning him with her gaze, "do you know where your son is? I do."

The defiant expression on the man's face instantly fell. "He is with Voltron. As he should be."

"No, he is not. He is here, with us." 

"Impossible!"

The smile remained on the witch's face. She was pleased to see him rattled, Thace thought, when in truth she was merely pleased with her own craft. She had worked tirelessly to imprint memories in the man's brain and her magic had taken root and grown well. 

Her prolonged silence had the intended effect and, when he could stand it no longer, Thace pulled against his restraints and bellowed in her face.

"What have you done with him! I demand to know at once! Release him!"

She lifted her chin, allowing him see how confident she was. "My, my, is that a reaction I see? I wagered that we just needed to find the right type of ammunition to use against you. You may rest easy; your son is safe--for now. He has use to us."

Her words did not put him at ease at all. There would be no way for Thace to 'rest easy' until he knew what plans they had for his child. For years he had fought to keep his son's whereabouts a secret. What a slap in the face it had been to see him, after all that time had passed, blasting into the Galra ships at the head of a Voltron lion. Fate was truly a fickle master and an unpredictable one.

He was left alone in the chamber to dwell on the implications of the witch's revelation. If they had his son, they may also have a piece of Voltron. Surely bad news for the fate of the universe. But of more importance to him, they had his son. There was a target on each paladin's back and fear for his child had always lurked in the forefront of Thace's thoughts. It was a necessary grief he struggled with daily, but there was so much more at stake than his own bloodline. 

Knowing that the lives of all in the universe depended on his heartlessness did not make it any easier to accept his son's presence. The love a parent had for their offspring was unbreakable and knowing that his son was close, so close he might be able to touch after over a decade apart, made his heart ache. 

_Be strong. They will use him against you._

Of course they would use their bond against him. He would not bend. As deeply as his love ran, there was too much at stake to give in to his affections. Sure enough, when the druids returned, Haggar wasted no time cutting to the chase.

"Your son lives, by the will of our great emperor, as you so live. You have use for us as well."

"I can imagine what use that is."

"I'm sure that you can."

Thace turned his face away, attempting to hide how weak his resolve was. "Whatever you are plotting, I will not be a party to it. Do as you will to me."

"And to your son?" Haggar asked, feigning curiosity. 

Thace's head snapped forward, eyes widening momentarily before narrowing threateningly. "You will not touch--!"

"You have two options here, traitor." Haggar interrupted. "You will be of use to us or you will perish."

"I happily choose death!"

"I wagered you would, but before you rush into death's arms, you ought to hear the rest of my conditions. Your son will be used, one way or another, that is a fact that you cannot dispute." She saw the man swallow thickly, rage burning in his eyes. "You live and can assist us in assimilating your son and tracking the Voltron rebels, which would be a much friendlier fate for the both of you, or you can die and we will assimilate your son regardless. Though it will be a far more painful process for him, should you refuse."

How utterly cruel and absolutely typical of the witch. It was a true Galra exploitation. Against his wishes, Thace conjured the image of his pale faced child, his unruly hair matted with blood, glowing lacerations upon his face as his eyes grew cold, dead like a fish. His heart ached. Every paternal instinct he possessed demanded that he fight with every breath to preserve the life of his only child. 

"I refuse."

\----------------------------

He was still alive. _Why_ was he still alive, Keith wondered. How long had it been? A week? Two weeks? Not likely that long, but long enough to make him raise an eyebrow. After being dragged from the red lion, kicking and screaming but ultimately too wounded and outnumbered to fight back, Keith had accepted that death was inevitable. There had been targets on their backs since the second they found the blue lion all those years ago. After a decade of destroying battle ships, thwarting plans, and liberating enslaved planets, he thought that Zarkon would have rushed to have his head on a spike. Perhaps he was saving him up for a special display....to be torn apart in the arena, like they had tried with Shiro. Or maybe his death was meant to be a long, drawn out spectacle. 

He shivered at the thought. If he was to die, he would die with honor. He had to think logically and the most logical conclusion was that he would be executed eventually. He was no ordinary prisoner, after all. At least the others hadn't done something foolish, like a rescue attempt. He despised rescue missions. 

Another three days passed, three meal trays brought and retrieved. Still no sign of death or torment. It was confusing. If he had to wait for death then that meant he had a purpose to the Galra. That was possibly more frightening than the prospect of torture and death. Even if he did not willingly relinquish any information, he was certain that they could find ways to get into his head and pry it from him.

With nothing better to do, Keith took to pacing the confines of his cell. He was alone; too dangerous to be housed with other prisoners, he supposed. He had nothing left on his body but his jumpsuit, not even his armor. They had even taken his boots. Wise of them, seeing as Pidge had updated all of their armor years ago and he had a blade installed in his toe and another in his heel. Pity he didn't have either now. He might have been able to maneuver a great escape.

Plopping down in the corner, having exhausted his reserve of frustrated pacing, Keith curled his legs beneath him in an attempt to preserve his body heat and fumed. In the days following his capture, his temper had been flaring on and off.One minute he was screaming at the walls about how idiotic he had been to get caught, the next he was cursing the Galra empire until he was hoarse in the mouth. Other times he was near tears, thinking of the many regrets he had. Most of the time, he was dull, static, demure, saddened by his fate but able to accept it as an inevitable outcome of his role as a Voltron paladin. 

His blood was boiling again that moment and a plethora of curses flooded his mouth. 

_God damn Galra and their empire bullshit! If it hadn't been for those assholes, none of this would have happened! All of their lives fucking ruined because some fucking twat of an ancient ass lizard emperor had to control the entire damn universe and every fucking idiot of the Galra race had gone along with it!_

Keith fell back into his spot, exhausted by his tirade. Getting angry did nothing; he knew that after days of capture. However, this time around, patience did not yield focus and he was as stuck as he could be. No matter how patient he was, Keith was confident that he would not find a way out of this. No windows, one door, no air ducts, just four small slits in the walls themselves to serve as air vents. It was a perfectly designed prison that one could not escape from.

He sighed, his head spinning, and looked to his one escape route. His heart stopped momentarily. Staring back at him were two pairs of golden, glowing eyes watching every movement he made.

\---------------------------

He was _perfect_. In all the years he had spent dreaming of his son, conjuring images of what his face might be like, how he had grown, the images Thace had imagined had never come close to the actuality. It had taken time for him to realize that the boy, the paladin with Galra blood, was his own child--but not too much time. Who else could it have been? Earth had not yet been reached and properly colonized. His suspicions had been confirmed when the boy had left a sample of tissue behind in a skirmish. Thankfully, Thace had found it first, before it could be taken to the druids and the paladin traced back to him. The confirmation had elated him. And terrified him. His son was alive and well, strong, wise, and a true fighter, but he was also reckless, brash, and directly in the path of the emperor. 

Staring at the young man through the thick glass of the cell door, Thace felt his body shiver as he repressed the urge to demand entrance and run to his child. For years he had dreamed about holding his child, sweeping him in his arms and embracing him, teaching him combat, guiding him as a father should his son. They were stupid, sentimental ideas that would never happen, but they had helped to get him through the days and overcome his grief.

Now there the boy was, crouching in the corner of a cell, screaming and pacing like a feral beast. Never would Thace have imagined that he would have such strong paternal instinct, having been completely absent from his child's life. 

At his side, Haggar studied him, watching the warring expressions on his face and biding her time. She was not gambling; she knew how he would react. All she needed to do was pick the right time to jab the needle into his side and turn it to get him to dance as she wished.

"He is rather ugly, isn't he? Not a trace of his Galra blood. That can be easily remedied; when we begin the quintessence transfusions, I'm sure his true form will come out."

Thace snarled, snapping his head in her direction. Having endured the witch's quintessence experiments himself, he knew the torture that she threatened his son with. 

_Do not bend_.

He took a deep breath, forcing as much calm upon his mind as he could. Looking back into the cell, he noted that the young man had noticed their presence and was staring back at them. The eyes were wide, a bit curious, but mostly the expression was hostile. A true fighter. 

Thace turned his face away and, to prevent himself from looking back, put his back to the door. "I refuse your offer."

\---------------------------

Those eyes were back again. Keith was beginning to make theories on who was watching and what they wanted. The walls were too thick for him to hear what words were exchanged between the two, but the one time he dared to step up to the door, it appeared they were arguing. The man looked agitated and deeply disturbed and Haggar, that old witch bitch, was smiling pleasantly as if they were discussing the state of the weather. If he were to place bets, he'd say they were not allies, so that made the man _his_ ally. 

_The enemy of my enemy is my friend_. 

When the man caught sight of him, standing so close that they might touch, were the glass panel not in the way, he looked alarmed. Keith tried to school his face so he did not appear too menacing, hoping that perhaps there might still be a few loyal Blades in the Galra fleet, but the man immediately turned away and the two left shortly after.

He saw the pair four times before the cell door opened at last. It was not Haggar or the man who entered though. A group of sentries marched in, grabbing him roughly and dragging him through the halls. They were moving far too fast for Keith to properly map out his locations and the layout of the ship, but he knew their destination as soon as he saw the medical table; the torture chamber. 

No amount of kicking or screaming deterred his assailants. Within moments, he was strapped down, his hair wetted and pushed aside so that they could attach some type of band to his temples. That was a horrible sign of what was to come and Kieth stole a moment to worry how badly it would hurt when they fried his brain. He had been on the receiving end of no few quintessence blasts over the years and they hurt like hell, even a great distance away. One directed right to his head was sure to do a great deal of damage. 

The druids filed in, silent and menacing, and the sentries quickly dispersed. Throwing his head back and forth, Keith was cognizant enough to realize that Haggar was not present. It was a small enough relief, knowing how savage the witch could be. If he was spared even a sliver of pain he would be grateful.

There was little left to do other than glare defiantly at the cloaked figures while they prepared themselves for their ritual. With hands and feet bound, there was no escape. Screaming insults seemed a waste of breath...although he did throw in a few for good measure. 

"He is giving in." Haggar commented, watching through the mirrored panel as the young paladin hissed, spat, and then, quite suddenly, went limp. She smiled. "All the better for him."

At her back, Thace strained to see around her figure, restrained as he was. He had watched the suited men drag his son into the chamber, fighting with all the strength he had left, and he felt immeasurably proud. They were fighters to the end. Their lives might end, but they had done the universe as great a service as they could. His son would be eternally enshrined as a hero. That thought allowed him to relax against his restraints and accept the moment for what it was. He inhaled a deep breath, leaning his head against the chair he had been tied to, and lifted his eyes to the ceiling. 

"Unmoved?" The witched called, an irritatingly playful lilt to her voice.

"I have refused your offer time and again." Thace said evenly. "You will not break my will."

There was a short pause, Haggar's face slack and expressionless as she mulled over his declaration. Within a moment though, she was smiling again and she turned back to the panel.

"So it begins."

Thace screwed his eyes shut as tightly as he could. He knew very well what was happening in the room next door. He had no stomach to watch. He knew, from his own time on the bench, the inescapable pain that his son would endure. It was a necessary sacrifice they made. If they could no longer be of use to the resistance then they could at least protect their secrets in death. 

The first scream cut into Thace like a blade of guilt, a reminder of how he had failed his only child. He could not have failed worse, had he hand delivered his son to Zarkon himself. He cringed, trying to ignore the screams, trying not to hear the agony and desperation in those cries. Tears came to his eyes unbidden and he blinked, marveling. He had not shed a tear in years; there was no room for tears in war. 

But this was different. This was no random soldier falling on his blade to preserve the resistance. This was his child. His one and only son. For years he had yearned to know how his child had grown, to know whether he was happy, secretly praying for a day that he might be part of his son's life. The chance had been given to him on a silver platter with a damning condition. Suddenly though, that platter was looking more and more appealing. 

At last he looked up, peering beyond Haggar's hunched form to see the terror in the other room. He should not have looked. Just that moment, his son arched violently against his bonds, a gush of bile shooting from his mouth and splattering his face.

"Stop this!" Thace demanded, pulling against his own restraints. "You will kill him!"

Haggar turned to regard him with a calm eye. "He will not die yet. He has use to us."

"I said stop!"

She glided over to him, standing at his shoulder and positioning herself so she might also look into the other room. "You have the power to stop it. You need only say the word. Keep your child and work for us. Or you can count on watching this show again and again, until you perish."

She would not hesitate to torture his child just to see him shrivel inside. She was evil. It was her nature. Thace could not imagine having to endure day after day of watching his son writhe and scream, his body assaulted and penetrated by the druid's dark magic. He did not think he could endure a single second more of it.

"Stop." He lowered his head, praying for forgiveness from all those who had bravely perished before him and those who would surely die from his treachery. "I will submit. Stop. Free my son."


	4. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so, it starts...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has left me such amazing comments and all the kudos! You're all great! I hope you like the story! Feel free to ask any questions you have!
> 
> And so...onward!

The control panel was humming, screen glowing painfully bright in the otherwise dim cockpit. Shiro sat in his seat, one leg folded over the other knee, leaning one elbow on the armrest as he stared at the map. There was silence. All night he had waited for the gentle bleep that foretold the coming of the galra ship. All night, as with the others, the bleep did not come. The ship remained unfound. His eyes were growing out of focus again; he had stared at the map for over an hour and the battleship had not appeared. He did not hold out hope that it would reappear after so long. They had been tracing the ship, desperately searching for weeks, and they had not found a hint of the great vessel. Their tracking system could only track within a radius of a million miles. That had seemed like a great distance when Pidge had first revealed the system. Suddenly though, a million miles seemed an abysmally small number. In the vast universe, a million miles was nothing. The closest planet was a lightyear away. What was the use of even measuring in miles?

With a sigh, he flicked the screen closed. He ought to stop looking at the maps. As much as he loathed the idea of giving up, of saying good bye and accepting what had happened, reality demanded that he do so. Shiro hung his head, feeling his spirits sink. Everyday was a struggle to remain positive, to put on a brave face for the rest of the team. When he was alone, those few precious hours in the morning before the others woke, or at night, before he slept, he succumbed to his darker thoughts. He had taken to brooding, sneaking off when the others were occupied or his presence was unneeded. It was funny, Shiro thought; for years he had been the quintessential leader, a heady presence in everyone's life and always ready to be called upon. Hardly a moment of his time seemed unspoken for. There was always some task to perform, some training to do, maintenance to be done. It was part of the territory; defenders of the universe didn't take time to rest.

It was astonishing how loudly the silence roared when he finally sat back and allowed himself a moment to rest. Shiro leaned his head back, his eyes drifting closed. Suddenly, he was sinking, weighted down by the moment, drowning him. Still, he felt free in a way. Everything but the burden of his soul floated away. None of it mattered. His mind was clear of anything but Keith and his loneliness. His heart ached, but for that moment, as he was slowly accepting that he had lost, he was alright with that pain. He could endure it.

The knock on the cockpit door jarred him out of his reveries and the world came rushed back in, crashing back down upon his shoulders. He turned his head just as Lance ducked his head and entered, the lights from the hangar illuminating his tanned face briefly before the door slid closed. 

"Hey." The young man offered lamely.

Shiro did not bother responding. Everyone knew his mood and, for once, he was going to allow himself to be aloof.

Lance sighed, skirting around his seat and leaning against one of the consoles. After a prolonged moment of silence, he cleared his throat. "You've been in here for hours."

Shiro grunted softly. 

"Looking at maps? Trying to trace the ship?" 

The man sighed. "Is there something you need, Lance?"

Lance paused, unused to being rebuffed by Shiro. "I was just worried. We're all....worried."

"I know." He had seen the looks, heard the whispers. A part of him had wanted to respond, to allay their fears and reassure them that all was well, but it was a small part of him that wished to offer that balm. His foul mood overrode the urge easily. "Look, I know that you're worried, but I just--I just need some time."

Lance forced a smile, putting his hands up. "I get it. Totally. We've lost teammates before, but not for this long. Don't worry too much, Shiro. We'll find Keith. You know how he is. He's probably blasting his way through Galra ships right now to get back to us."

Shiro snorted, amused at the image. "That does sound very much like Keith."

"Just wait," the younger paladin flipped his hand in the air dismissively, "he'll come busting in here like he always does, all attitude and--"

"Lance."

"Yeah?"

"Stop playing."

Lance paused, blinking stupidly. "What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean."

"I--no, I really don't. What do you mean?"

Shiro felt a wave of exhaustion crest upon him. He had come to accept certain facts, but that did not mean he was ready yet to speak them aloud and bring them formally into the universe. He had thought that the rest of the crew, capable minded as they were, would have been able to grasp at the severity of the situation. Perhaps they had and they were merely in denial. 

"Lance," he began softly, lifting his head and fixing the younger paladin with a firm stare, "Keith is dead. We have to accept that fact."

Lance stared, face slack. "Shiro, how can you say--?"

"Don't be naive." Shiro snapped. "We've known, since the day we found the blue lion, the danger we were in. That danger hasn't lessened over the course of five years, Lance. We've crippled Zarkon numerous times, humiliated him, destroyed his empire. He would never hold back his wrath if he had one of us in his grasp." 

Did he really need to explain it? Every mission, no exception, they were shot at or attacked. Commanders, lieutenants, and cadets alike had sworn to kill them, to drag their carcasses back to Zarkon as prizes. The first death threat made to them hadn't been that upsetting to Shiro, after a year entrenched in the Galra slave rings, but he had seen how shaken the others had been. They all knew, could see in the vicious tactics of their enemies, how sincere Zarkon was in his desire to see them all obliterated. 

No matter how he wished it, Shiro could not find reason to believe anything other than that Keith was long dead.

He slump forward, hanging his head. Any peace he had found left him in a single sharp exhale. Something painful stung his eyes. The hand that clapped his shoulder was a surprise. When he looked up at Lance, Shiro was struck with how awkward the situation must have been for the younger paladin. He was the leader, the strong one. They looked to him for strength and guidance. He had never seen that particular look in Lance's eyes before, not directed at him. What was it? He couldn't place it for several long seconds, but when he finally realized what it was, Shiro flinched. It was pity. Lance pitied him.

"I know how much this must hurt you, Shiro, but you have to have hope."

"Hope?" He almost laughed. 

"The Blade of Marmora has been on the lookout since Keith disappeared; all of our contacts and their spies have been. If something had happened to him, we would have heard by now."

It was one of the more logical arguments Lance had put together. "Lance, the Blade of Marmora is a dying breed. Their numbers have dwindled to nothing and last we knew, their confidants on the Galra battleships were down to only a handful. The chances that one of their spies would have been on the same exact ship that Keith was taken to are a million to one. We might never know for certain what happened--" his voice shook suddenly and he had to take a moment to regain his composure. "We have to be realistic. We don't have to see it to know what happened."

Lance shook his head." I can't accept that."

"You'll have to."

"No, I refuse to accept it." That was the most conviction Shiro had heard in the paladin's voice in ages. Lance knew how he was perceived and he liked to ham it up, despite being quite intelligent. When he was serious, Lance had strokes of genius. That moment, he seemed far more mature for his age. "Shiro, I know that you've lost something--someone close to you. You two never came out and said it or revealed it to us, but we knew. I respected you both for not wanting to jeopardize our mission by putting your relationship first, but you need to take some time to mourn for what you lost. Once you've done that, you'll be able to move past the loss and focus on getting Keith back. You have to have hope, Shiro."

Hope. That word again. It was like a taunt. 

Shiro stared at Lance, slowly turning the young man's words over in his mind. Hope was a foolish thing to have. After years of constant battle, hope had faded away, growing brittle and frail, replaced with cold practicality and realism. You went into battle, hoping for the best, but expecting the worst. All those peptalks he gave, the riveting speeches and rallying cheers were just a farce to stir morale and get them ready for battle. 

Lance left him without another word, sensing that his uplifting words were not reaching Shiro. He wished that he could have hope. He missed having hope. Hope, though, had abandoned him. As soon as they had realized Keith's absence, they had leapt into action, tracking the remaining battleships and instituting a search and rescue. Nothing came of it though. Before they could make contact, the battleship that the red lion had crashed into entered a wormhole and was lost to them. For days they detained and searched every Galra vessel they came across, but there was no sign or word of Keith. The red paladin had vanished. As the days ticked away, it became impossible for Shiro to maintain his hope. At some point, he told himself reasonably, he had to face reality. As horrible as it was, as exhausting, suffocating, and crushing as it was, he had to bear the weight of his loss. His eternal optimism had been snuffed out.

\--------------

The lights were spinning overhead. Keith tried it focus on one of the swirling orbs, concentrating on tracing its path, but he always lost the trajectory. His eyelids opened and closed rapidly, almost of their own accord. For four days he had fought against the assault on his mind, but Keith knew he was fighting a losing battle. He endured three sessions a day, each one seeming more painful and intrusive than the last. Basic functioning had begun to be problematic and when he wasn't being tortured the only thing the young man could do was curl up into a tight ball in his cell. If luck were with him, he would sleep, falling into a deep, black, dreamless state. If not, he sat as still as possible, hyper aware of every sound creeping in from the halls. 

He was drifting that moment, about to fall, when the cell door swung open and the sentinels filed in. Immediately, he leapt to his feet, stumbling a bit, but steadying himself a second later. When the first sentry reach out to grab his arm, he feinted back, slapping the hand away and aiming a blow to then guard's face. The man's helmet went flying, but any elated feel of victory he had was crushed as the other sentinels rushed in, hands falling on ever part of his body and pulling him every direction. Something popped in his shoulder, accompanied by a burst of pain, but they ignored his screeching. This was business as usual and the sooner they delivered him to the druids, the sooner they could return to their duties.

The cold metal of the table was familiar by then. Keith took a breath and shut his eyes, trying to focus his mind and find the point of pain in his arm. The entire thing radiated, hot and throbbing. Did it really matter where the hurt was, he wondered sourly. With arms locked into place, unable to defend or free himself, there was nothing to do to ease his suffering. If he were back on the castle he could crawl into one of those...those..what were they? Pods, he thought. Healing pods. Lance and Shiro had been in those briefly. Or maybe it had been Hunk. 

Keith growled at himself, irritated at how frail his memory had become. Things he had once know for certain, memories he had been able to summon at whim, were suddenly scattered and vague. It wasn't a failing of his memory, he reasoned, but of his stamina; every session of torture, the druids concentrated all of their efforts in destroying his mind. They deprived him of food and water, worked his body and mind to exhaustion. Even one with a mind of steel or body of iron would succumb to the constant barrage of torture. Yet he was intact... His body was not covered in the glowing wounds that they usually sported when going toe to toe with the druids. That highly notable fact told him that they were after more than petty vengeance. 

A week ago he would have vehemently declared that they would not break his mind. Now, Keith wasn't so sure. A few more days, he might not even remember his own name. At least they hadn't gotten anything from him...as far as he knew. They had not wasted time in getting him into the torture chamber; they didn't even interrogate him. In fact, he couldn't recall a single question ever being asked of him. The entire arrangement didn't sit right with him, but with his mind a muddled mess, he didn't have the energy to mull over the whys and wherefores. If this was the will of the Galra, then he had to deal with it and fight with whatever means he had at his disposable. 

\----------------------

"How much longer will this take?"

Haggar looked away from the set of beds that had been ordered for the newly renovated suite to find former lieutenant Thace sitting at a desk chair, head resting in the cradle of his hands. The sight of his distress brought a pleased smile to her face.

"Be patient." She advised, continuing her survey of the rooms. 

Everything appeared as she had commanded; two small, closely placed beds, low functioning computers to maintain the appearance of Thace's position, and a variety of amenities one would expect to find in a suite for two. 

Having completed her examination and finding all to her satisfaction, she turned and stepped closer to the man. "You have your instructions. If you are having any doubts as to your ability to maintain your end of the bargain, now is the time to say so. Should you fail us half way into this mission, you _will_ regret it."

Thace closed his eyes. He understood his instructions perfectly. He had been outfitted once more in the uniform of a lieutenant. None of the soldiers had learned of his treachery and none would be told. All those outside of Zarkon's trusted circle of advisers and pawns were to remain oblivious. To all others, he had merely been called away for a time on a personal errand for the emperor. Returning with a full grown child would raise a few eyebrows, but it would not be such a leap of logic for the soldiers to accept. Many of them had family they left behind or children of their own that joined the military to carry on the family tradition. The biggest hurdle,aside from personal dilemmas, would be explaining away his son's looks. 

"They will know he is not a full blooded Galra."

The druid scoffed. "It will be a minor issue. He may be smaller and weaker than his full blood brethren, but he is not without skill. He has the skill and the savagery of the Galra within him. Those who doubt him will soon be put in their places."

Thace remained hesitant. "To what purpose will you put him?" He had bit his tongue long enough. He had agreed on dubious terms, like the utter fool he was, but he could no longer bide his time. If any of his hundreds of hunches were correct, his son would be put into place much faster than anticipated. He needed to protect his child and to do so he needed to know what type of hell they would thrust him into.

The witch continued to move about, no longer eyeing each detail of the suite in scrutiny, but slowly and wistfully. There was great hope riding on this plan. If all went well, it could very well mean the downfall of Voltron. With that pleasing thought in mind, she placed a small case on the counter beside the bed. 

"Mind these." She snapped, having revealed their contents to the man earlier and explained their vital use.

Thace nodded weakly, dropping his gaze to the floor. Again he asked his question, desperate for some clue that might better prepare him for what was to come. 

She did not respond for a long while, watching the way the man's body tensed and his hands clench anxiously. 

She paused in front of him, drinking in his tense expression. "He will be put to the same use he had as a paladin of Voltron."

Thace lifted his head, surprised. "He is to be a pilot?"

"Of what other use would he be?" 

"He has no experience with our technology." He protested.

"If he can learn to maneuver a Voltron lion with ease, he will learn to pilot our ships as easily." She countered. 

Vivid memories of the red lion sprung to his mind, seeing the beast fly, dodge, glance and deliver blows; his son flew it beautifully, like a true master of the craft. The emperor himself had offered compliment time and again, albeit with great disdain in his words. It was a privilege to see him fly. 

The witch's hands were upon him suddenly, jerking his head upwards and forcing his eyes to hers. "Your son is alive and will return to you. That is a gift a traitor such as yourself does not deserve." He tried to jerk his head away, but her grasp was unshakable. "You are alive because you have information we need and you will be of great use in assimilating your son, but do not think that, should you prove to be a useless traitor still, we will continue to tolerate you. Consider that when you are given a task that you find conflicts with your ideals."

At his prolonged silence she added, "I have alternative means to use your son against Voltron. Such a pale, pretty thing like him would look magnificent as one of my beasts."

"No!" Thace leapt to his feet, holding himself to his full height to tower over the hunched druid. "You will not harm my son!" His temper wavered suddenly; she would not hesitate to act against him and strike at his greatest weakness. "You will not need to harm my son; I will perform whatever task you have for me. I will guide him as a soldier and pilot. He will be obedient." 

"Good. I will hold you to your word."

She swept from the room without further threat, cloak billowing behind her as she returned to the chamber where the paladin was being prepared. Thace stood a moment, waiting for the door to close and for the druid to be safely down the hall before upturning his chair and screaming his rage to the ceiling. Almost, he reached for the small case the witch had left with him to throw it against the wall and smash its contents to pieces. Almost. 

The fault lay with him, it was his shame to bear. His weakness had placed him there and he had to redeem himself. His treachery had saved his son some brief discomfort; he could accept that he had sold his metaphorical soul for that small relief. The path he walked now would be like walking the edge of a knife; he would obey whatever commands were given and keep his son safe from the druids, but he refused to turn tail and surrender his morals completely. He might not be able to assist the Blade or Voltron actively, but there were ways to be discreet. He had survived a decade on the emperor's ship without discovery; he would see what tasks they put him to and how he could outmaneuver their machinations. 

He had failed; Thace wholly recognized and accepted that. For the sake of all those he had betrayed, for all those that had died in battle, and all those enslaved by the empire, he would continue the fight, for as long as he could. 

\--------------

_Perfect_. It was the only word that came to mind when they brought his son to the suite and laid him in bed. He would wake soon, the druids warned, and when he did he would recall nothing of his life as a paladin, he would know only the memories they had implanted in his mind. As soon as the young man woke, Thace was reminded, he was to begin his own task of carefully steering the boy in whatever direction the emperor saw fit. 

They spoke for some time, giving him very clear instructions, but Thace's attention was thoroughly ensnared elsewhere. They deposited his son on the largest of the beds, carefully lying his head upon the pillow and folding his hands over his stomach. A splattering of light purple patches of flesh still lingered from the last dose of quintessence the boy had received, running up and down his arms, a few even present on his neck and cheeks. It was temporary, the druids explained. It would have been a waste of a precious resource to worry over a physical appearance they could not permanently change. 

Haggar stooped by the bed, carefully examining her work before passing it along. "He is weak." She hissed. "He will need to feed from your own quintessence before he is strong enough to be placed among the soldiers."

Thace turned his head, finding the box of micro quintessence injections she had left days ago. 

"Even with those, he will be weak. I will not waste any more resources on him, should you prove incapable of providing the needed energy."

"You will not need to worry about that." He reassured, moving to the bedside and kneeling. 

The boy seemed so small and frail, a mere child among the tall, muscular galra in the room. Even full grown, Thace could easily hold him in his arms and carry him with ease. Were the patches of purple skin not there, a telltale sign of his bloodline, he would have difficulty believing the boy had galra blood within him. Hesitantly, he reached a hand out to brush against his son's soft cheek, rubbing his knuckles against it gently before twisting a lock of hair around his finger.

A soft laugh escaped him. _Perfect_. 

"He will wake soon." The witch turned, commanding her druids and the sentries from the room. The assimilation was beginning. "You will be left alone for now, 'lieutenant', but do not believe for a moment that you are not being watched. You are not to be trusted. Every move you make or word you speak will be seen and recorded. Remember this: one ill made move and you will pay for it with your life."

He nodded, hearing her words, but refusing to tear his eyes from his child's resting face. "You will find no treachery from me; I live for my son."

"And your son's life is in the emperor's hands. I hope I needn't remind you of that repeatedly. It will grow tedious."

Tedious or not, Thace was certain they would not hesitate to use that ammunition against him whenever they felt the desire. He resisted the urge to growl when the witch opened the small case she had left days ago and approached with an injection of highly potent quintessence. Wisely, he moved a step back. She grabbed the boy's arm carelessly and plunged the needle in. Thace grimaced and watched as the purple liquid slowly left the vial, worrying over the twisted path that poison might take his son. Quintessence was, by its very nature, pure, but it could easily be corrupted--and there were none more corrupted than the emperor and his witch. 

The sting of the needle made the boy stir, his brow furrowing and mouth falling open, a string of saliva dripping loose. Thace instinctively reached out to mop the spit away. 

The time had come. Haggar stared hard at the paladin's face and his doting 'father'. Thus far, her maneuverings had proven successful. If the work she had done on Thace were any indication, the emperor would soon have a former paladin of Voltron flying one of his warships. What a grand victory that would be. If her victory did not hinge on the reliance of a traitor, she would be far more pleased. 

"Heed my words, traitor, and do not fail us." She scowled at the man, meeting his equally hostile expression. A flurry of orange sparks burst to life in her palm as an unsubtle warning of what could happen, should he fail in his duties. A spark fell on the paladin's hand and the boy flinched. 

The threat served its purpose.

"I told you, you will not have to worry. I will perform whatever task you put me to."

Having gained another pledge--another worthless pledge, in her opinion--the druid hastily left to report her successes to the emperor. 

The silence of the room, though overwhelming, was comforting. There were eyes and ears everywhere, Thace knew. Without looking for them, he knew that there were cameras and microphones in the suite. They would take no more chances on him beyond the ones they currently took. He would never be trusted at the helm of a ship, but at the very least he could be trusted to nurture his child. It was a duty that he happily put himself to, no matter the circumstances of how the responsibility came to him. 

He took his son's hand, turning it over to examine the creases of his soft, pale palm. Not a sign of hair or scale, just soft human flesh, occasionally blemished by hard callouses. It was the hand of a warrior. He traced the line from the boy's thumb to his wrist, mesmerized by the feel of his flesh. There was a flutter of movement as the small fingers curled against his, reacting to his touch. He traced the line again, smiling as the fingers fluttered once more, grasping at his own and holding the tips loosely. 

An eternity seemed to pass as he knelt by the bed, his son's fingers clutching weakly at his own. So many fears were gnawing at his mind, but Thace could not help but be at peace. Alone, or at least with no spy i.physically in the room, he indulged in his fatherly urges and stroked his boy's hair, memorized the ridges of his hands, and kissed his temples where burn marks still lingered from the quintessence treatments. 

He wanted to live in that moment for as long as he could, surrender to the needs of his soul and fulfill his fatherly yearnings. He pressed his lips again to the tender burn mark on the boy's temple and earned a soft, tired groan. Rocking back on his heels, Thace retreated just in time to watch his son's eyelids flutter and peel open, a faint purple glow illuminating the whites of his small eyes.

It was the moment Thace had dreamed of, spent days preparing for, but suddenly he was speechless, rendered immobile. His son. At last he had his son. 

The young man regarded him curiously before croaking, "Father?"


	5. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith is growing impatient; Thace had not predicted that impatience might be the worst of his child's traits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm...this feels safe (except when you notice the new tags).
> 
> Thank you again for all your sweet reviews and kudos! They definitely give me the drive to keep writing! I'm so glad everyone is enjoying! I'll try to keep up the pace! I'll be over on tumblr too (same handle).

He woke to a patch of thick purple hair tickling his cheek. Keith curled his nose in annoyance, pushing against his father's chest to detangle himself. It had been an otherwise comfortable position, cradled in the crook of the man's arm, drawing in his warmth and the energy of his quintessence laced aura. As was, after that rude awakening, he would pester his father to shave that forest of hair he called a chest. If a kind request didn't work, he would find a razor and throw it at the man. 

He managed to get a foot on the floor before his body convulsed, protesting his leaving the cocoon of quintessence too soon. A snack might help replete his energy, Keith reasoned; had he not immediately stumbled back into bed and planted his hand right on his father's broad chest, he might have made it to the small freezer unit where they stored their personal food stuffs without rousing the man. His father's eyes flew open and pierced him with a warning glare. The man took stock of the situation quickly and, upon seeing that there was no real threat at hand, dragged in a deep breath and sat up.

"Why are you are awake, my son? You should be resting, gathering your strength."

"Your fur woke me up." Keith grumbled in irritation. He could feel the weakness in his limbs in the way his arms sagged heavily at his sides and his feet refused to take a single step without stumbling. His entire core radiated with exhaustion and he was sure that if he laid his head back down, he would fall back asleep in mere seconds. Moving was an absolute chore, but he was determined, now awake, that he would get his snack. His stomach rumbled angrily, as if he hadn't fed in days. If the fur hadn't woken him, his stomach surely would have.

Thace rubbed at the corner of his eye, wishing to have slept for another few hours. Sleeping with one eye open was a skill he had perfected over many years, with his enemies lurking everywhere. Sharing a bed with an uneasy sleeper was another story. Once his son had nursed enough quintessence from his aura, he would have his bed to himself again, but until that day he would have to suffer the kicks and jabs, to say nothing of his own exhaustion, having his aura drained nightly. 

"Go back to sleep, my child. There are many hours before we need to rise."

"I'm hungry." His son replied simply, scooting to the edge of the bed and planting his feet firmly. 

When he was certain that his feet were steady, he pushed himself up. It was stupidly satisfying to be standing. His legs wavered, but through careful navigation and thoughtful steps, he was able to walk to the freezer unit and pull out a freeze dried vegetable roll. 

"It is a bit early for lunch." His father mumbled, flexing his aching back.

Not too early for him, Keith thought, halfway through the roll. With the one gone and his stomach still demanded sustenance, he reached for another. At the third, his father came over and forcefully closed the freezer door, demanded him back to bed. 

"I feel like I haven't eaten in ages." Keith complained, allowing his father to steer him back to bed and cover him in blankets. 

"You're recovering from the accident." Thace explained patiently, slipping under the blankets and drawing his son close, "You could barely breathe for yourself, much less feed yourself. Your body is demanding all the sustenance it was denied when healing."

Strange how he could not remember the accident, Keith mused, forcing his eyes open so as not to fall asleep. Such a terrible incident, his father claimed, and yet he had no memory of it and his body showed no signs of the damage. From the tidbits of story he could glean from the man, there had been a crash and many had been injured. Pilot error, from a third party that had ended up sending him to the health ward with near death injuries. Perhaps that was right, he mused, lids falling shut; he did recall some talk about pilot error, in a vague, distant memory. Perhaps one of the nurses attending him had spoken about it at his bedside. 

At last the child was asleep, Thace realized with relief. He adored his son, would do anything for him, even endure midnight feeding sessions like so, but his own mind was a tired, jumbled mess and he needed a good night of rest to recover so he may fight on another day. As he sank into slumber, he felt his son press closer, drinking in his warmth and the healing allure of his quintessence aura. He put an arm around the boy's back, turning his head to inhale the scent of his newly washed hair. Funny, he thought with a laugh; he was supposed to be the one keeping his son safe and yet it was he that felt an immense weight lift from his chest, having his child so close.

\--------

There was little use in hiding the boy, but Thace did so anyway. After much protest and a final, stern 'I am your father and you do as I say', Keith had begrudgingly moved into his bedchamber and closed the door. A sour 'I'll hear anyways' was thrown at him just before the door closed and Thace clenched his fists, taking a deep breath and reminding himself to be patient. His child might be grown, but the inclination to disobey was quite clearly still present. Well, the man thought, they had many years of bonding and irrational strife of youth to make up for. At least he had seemed to avoid the phase of incessant arguing for arguments sake and rebelling for peer acknowledgement. Although, had matters been different, he wouldn't have minded the trials of parenthood.

But not that day. With the witch descending upon him shortly, he had no time for sass and stubbornness. Had he taken the time to check, he was certain he would find the boy lodged against the door, ear pressed to the metal so he might eavesdrop. He would interrogate the boy later; as was, he barely had time to hide all evidence of his child's messy presence when the suite door opened and the druids marched in. 

Immediately, his senses leapt to alert; his skin tingled at the presence of quintessence, hair standing on end. Every galra possessed an aura of quintessence, a subtle but powerful pull of energy that nourished their being. What the druids possessed was something all together different; dark, powerful, a reminder to all they passed of the power they possessed and the wrath they may deliver. 

Haggar approached, her face unreadable. Before beginning her business, she took a moment to scan the living area, noting the amount of debris and clutter. She turned her eyes to Thace and saw that clenched in his hand was a food wrapper. Assimilation appeared to be going well. 

"You have been assigned a task." She said evenly, extending a tablet. 

Thace grimaced, considering a moment what to do with the garbage in his hand and ultimately deciding to toss it back to the ground. He took the tablet, refusing to acknowledge the filth. The data had been encrypted; only the reading of his own quintessences signature could open the files, but in the back of his mind Thace thought it would be wise to hide the tablet once finished with it. With his son drinking from his quintessence reserves, there was a chance that the boy would also be able to open it. That was not a risk he wished to take.

He scanned the mission objective and notes quickly, frowning. "You wish me to find you the Blade of Marmora."

"They are Voltron's greatest ally in this battle. For years they have undermined our work. Lord Zarkon grows tired of their interference."

Their data appeared to be somewhat dated. A year ago, he had been in contact with at least five Blade bases. There had been dozens of small factions scattered across the universe. Now, he thought there might only be a handful left. Many were ferreted out and executed, others died in the line of duty. When his own treachery was discovered, he had to cut all ties with them, lest he lead the druids back to them. He had only two contacts left, but every one of them counted. So long as a single Blade lived, so too did the hope of Marmora.

"I will research their organization and attempt to locate them for the emperor." Thace said evenly, betraying nothing in his expression.

"See that you do. Prove that you have learned your place and you may yet be rewarded some comforts, though you are not worthy of them."

She turned her head suddenly, staring at the bedroom door as if she had sensed something. He followed her gaze, tensing in alarm. Move, he willed vehemently, imagining his son pressed tightly against the door. Should he get caught, he may be taken back to a cell. It was an act of low class treason to eavesdrop on imperial business and no matter the use his son might have, he did not suspect the witch would tolerate such insolence. 

The woman's eyes narrowed. She addressed him without turning to him, still gazing at the door. "How is your son, lieutenant Thace? Is he recovering well?"

"He is well." Thace fought to keep the grimace from his face. He had truly been compromised by his son; never before had he needed to fight to maintain his stony composure. It was one of the reasons he had been placed so close to the emperor. He was an unreadable book, an immovable object. He would betray nothing if he did not wish for it to show. The druids had found his great weakness and they exploited it well. 

Haggar continued to stare, brow puckered in annoyance. Her golden eyes slid his way and Thace clenched his fists, awaiting the fall of judgment. To his amazement, it never came. She strode over, pausing at his side and hissed lowly, "Mind that he knows his place as well."

There was nothing for him to do but accept the threat. With a single nod, he stood aside, watching the druids to file out. The electric current of their magic echoed within the room, even after their departure. His skin crawled, the memories of his days of torture surfacing with a burst of anger. 

A set of deep breaths saw his reason return and he locked the tablet away where it would remain safe from his son's curiosity. With that out of sight, he opened the bedroom door to find his son curled up in his bed. Upon hearing the door slide open, the boy's head shot up from the pile of blankets he had cocooned himself in. 

"What happened?" He asked immediately, throwing the blankets aside.

"That's not important."

"Those were the druids, weren't they? What do they want with you?"

"Come out now, it's time to eat and then I need to give you your injection."

"But what did they--"

"Keith, my son," Thace crooked two of his fingers, beckoning the boy, "come now."

The use of his name gave Keith some pause. He was almost always 'my son' or 'my child'. His name was nearly taboo, perhaps because of its foreign sound. Whatever had transpired had set his father ill at ease; the man's patience was thin. Sensing that, he padded into the kitchen without further demand and waited patiently while his father prepared their meal. He fidgeted constantly, itching to ask a thousand questions, but knowing better. 

He made it halfway through the meal before speaking. "Why were the druids here?"

His father's eyes flicked towards him, a displeased frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I have business with them."

"With them? You're a lieutenant in the military. What business could the druids have with you? Are they trying to use the soldiers--"

"It is confidential and you must not ask any questions."

Keith snapped his mouth shut, debating if further prying was worth irritating his father. Ultimately, he decided it would not be worth his father's ire; the man would never give up any information anyways. They ate in reserved silence, the air between them tense as they both attempted to ignore the events that had just transpired.

His accident affected them deeply, Keith realized as he shuffled back to his father's bed while the man cleaned up. He may not have seen his father often while being stationed a galaxy away, but he remember happier times, when he could sit at ease with his father and speak un-haltingly. Now, words were difficult to find. More often than not they sat a distance apart, staring uncertainly at one another. In the week since he had woken from his injury, he could only recall perhaps three instances of conversation they had shared.

When his father approached several minutes later with his injection, he grimaced and extended his arm begrudgingly.

"It is a necessary evil." Thace remarked softly, taking his son's arm and gently sliding the needle into a vein. It was remarkably easy to find one, given the hairless, pale flesh. Perhaps the appearance caused him some shame and that was why his son pulled his arm back as soon as possible, rubbing at the injection site before folding his arms over his chest. 

Keith stared at the pinprick of blood that swelled from the injection site. Immediately his skin mottled, growing dark. The color bleed away from the injection, turning first his forearm, then his entire arm a light violet. Further spots appeared on his side and, had he looked, he might have found a few on his face. It was truly potent quintessence, to physically alter his body so. 

"When will I be done with that shit?"

Thace looked at the case; there had been twelve slim vials ready for use before. "Ten more weeks."

Keith grit his teeth so hard his jaw ached. "Ten weeks." He repeated. His father nodded. "And just what am I supposed to do for those ten weeks? Am I to sit here and waste away?"

A small laugh escaped Thace. "I would hardly call being properly fed and tended to 'wasting away'. But, yes, you will remain an inactive soldier until you have been cleared of any physical or mental deficits."

"Deficits?"

"You suffered terrible injuries, my son. You need time to rest and recover. Even great soldiers need to mend when wounded."

"A true soldier pushes through the pain and marches on."

"Forging on regardless of pain will do you no good when your injuries cripple you and prevent you from marching."

Keith scowled, asking himself again what he was meant to do for those weeks of recovery. He was not one to sit idly. It was a point of contention that often flared between him and his father; when he had contracted the flare fever as a child, his father had spent great time and effort keeping him in bed, properly medicated and tended. After several days of isolation, he had snuck free to be with his schoolmates. The resulting outbreak of flare fever among the young had ended in a world of discipline for him and no few bruises by his father's hand. That hadn't deterred him at all as a teenager though.

When he looked next, his father was holding the blankets aside and urging him to lay down. Babbling protests at him did nothing, so Keith did as told--muttering the entire time about his displeasure. Thace smiled indulgently, as he always did, and dimmed the lights before climbing into bed as well. Without prompting, his son curled into his side, sighing as the man's quintessence bled into him. 

"Patience." Thace whispered into the young man's hair. 

"Patience." Keith murmured back. "Focus."

"Yes, focus on getting well."

\------------------------------

This was beyond tedious. It had reached intolerable heights. Every day his father urged him to stay abed, entertaining himself with whatever nonsense he could think of. Three days of mediocre military programming and audio classes was enough to drive him mad. Every time he and his father crossed paths they ended up in a verbal spar. Something had put the man on edge and his temper was short. He hated causing his father distress, but his own nerves were frayed. Drastic measures would need to be taken to alleviate his cabin fever.

His father came to bed late, as had become his wont. Whatever task the druids had assigned, the man took it serious. Anytime that mysterious tablet was out, Thace banished him to his bedroom. Part of him desperately wished to know what his father was about, but it was none of his business, as his father had sternly pointed out. He had his own troubles to worry over. 

Thace fell asleep within moments of his head touching the pillow. Keith remained still, pressed to his father's side. He listened carefully, waiting for the man's short, shallow breathing to change. It did not take long; his father's breathing became deep, the breaths long. Deep asleep, Keith confirmed, carefully ducking out from under the man's arm and slipping from bed.

Immediately, he felt his body protest. He was badly deprived of quintessence and the injections, potent as they were, were not enough to keep up his strength. He had accepted with a great deal of embarrassment that he would need to resort to sleeping in his father's bed to steal some of the man's quintessence like a small child. It was truly mortifying. Reduced to infantilization just to stay alive. How the mighty fall.

He had not been provided with new armor yet, so there would be no easy blending in. That late in the evening though, there should not be many wandering around, save the guards. Those he could avoid. Pulling on his black bodysuit and boots, he tiptoed from the bedroom and slipped from the suite with hardly a sound. 

The ship layout was foreign.The one he had previously been stationed on was nothing like this, with its hard corners and narrow hallways. Whatever head injury he had taken had affected his memory terribly; although he could not recall exact memories, he knew, or he was at least very certain, of how things had been. His memory stores were very alarmingly blank and he had only feelings to rely upon. Certain things felt right. Most felt wrong. He had no clue why. And those halls felt all wrong, as if he were an intruder not meant to be there. 

It was a bit of a thrill to skulk around the ship past curfew. Even though he knew there was no danger, he employed his stealth skills and hugged each wall, peering past corners and ducking safely into alcoves to avoid guards. They maintained a predictable circuit that allowed him to count their paces in ticks and safely stow himself away until they passed. It wasn't much of a challenge, but at least he was out of that stuffy suite. 

Very quickly he realized another downfall to his weak memory; he was lost. All of the hallways appeared the same and after numerous navigational changes to avoid being caught, he was unsure from which direction he had originally come. Practicality demanded he cease and retrace his steps, but he very rarely listened to practicality. He had needs to meet and at the moment his needs included a long jaunt around the ship to stretch limbs and acquaint himself with his surroundings. 

After a respectable hour had passed and he had lost all hope of retracing his steps, he paused and considered how he might go about finding his way back. The simplest solution would be to stop avoiding the guards and have one of them escort him back to the suite. That of course would mean rousing his father and subjecting himself to a tirade of a lifetime. Perhaps if he started wandering he might have the good fortune of ending up outside his suite door. Finding that a far more agreeable plan, he turned back down the hall and kept his eye out for any hint of the path back.

His tracking skills needed honing; another hour had passed and he was hopelessly lost. Somewhere along the way, he had taken a wrong turn and he was no longer wandering the soldiers' quarter, but some wing housing numerous vast hangars. They must be for the drone ships or the underling pilots, he reasoned. Although that didn't explain the size or emptiness. He had opened the door to one and been engulfed by blackness. Several minutes later his eyes had adjusted and he saw...nothing. A mighty hangar housing nothing. It seemed odd.

To sate his curiosity, he entered a few more, finding them empty as well. Perhaps this wasn't a battleship, Keith thought. Perhaps that was a cover. It was the ship that the emperor resided on, after all. There would of course be a military presence, but perhaps that was all for show. He mulled the idea over, a thousand new questions forming, when he slipped into yet another hangar. This one was not empty.

The blackness was banished by a set of spotlights, directed at a massive shell of a... Keith wasn't sure what it was. He assumed a ship, given where it was. Taking a step closer, he took in each detail of the assumed ship, noting the materials used, the unique and completely ridiculous design, and the chunks of weaponry laying about that would likely later be incorporated. This was not just a ship, he realized. It was a warship. A small one, compared to their massive battle fleets, but more than capable of delivering considerable damage. With those weapons, it may even be more capable than a battle fleet.

He had to get a closer look. 

He took a great step forward, prepared to bound over and see it in all of its glory when his wrist erupted in pain. A strangled cry escaped him and he turned to see his father's face, twisted in anger.

"Keith!"

He grimaced, attempting to twist free from the man's grasp. "How did you find--"

"We must leave. _Now_."

His father refused to release him. All his desperate twisting and pulling managed to do was make the man grip him tighter. There was no reason to fight it; he ceased his campaign for freedom and jogged to keep pace with his father's long stride. 

"What was that?" He whispered. "A ship? What kind of ship is it?"

Thace glanced over his shoulder, his patience thinning to dangerous levels. "That is not for you to know." He hissed, stern. 

Keith bit his tongue. He should not press further. The man looked like he wished to throttle him. What a disappointment he must be, he thought, hanging his head. he already had much to atone for, being the abomination he was; he did not to add more to his plate. 

When they arrived at their suite, his father nearly threw him to bed, securing the lock on the door and making sure he would not be able to leave again without the use of a passcode. He watched the man pace, mouth set in a thin line, eyes narrow. 

"Father, I'm sorry."

He was ignored. He continue to watch his father pace, sitting immobile lest some small movement trigger a violent reaction. It was a stupid thought; his father was not a violent man. The man he was staring at though was not the same man he had happily left behind when he was given his own place on a warship. This man was tense, stern...frightened. 

"Father--"

Thace rushed over suddenly, grabbing his face and holding it between his massive hands.

"You must not _ever_ wander here, my son." He squeezed and Keith flinched. "This is _not_ a safe place for you. You must always obey the rules that govern us."

Keith tried to pull away, but his father's grip was unrelenting. He stared into the man's eyes, seeing the fear there and feeling his stomach turn. He had misjudged the safety of this stronghold. "I will not disobey again, father. I promise." 

Thace held his gaze for a long moment, searching his son's eyes for trick or deceit. There was nothing, save a vague appearance of regret. Slowly, he mastered his breathing again and released the boy's face. Keith opened his mouth but before he could utter a single syllable, he was pulled tight against his father's broad chest. A hand cradled the back of his head, fingers digging into his unruly hair. 

"You must remain safe." Thace whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of the boy's head. "You must. You must."

Trapped as he was in the man's embrace, Keith could only nod. He pressed into his father's chest, wrapping his small arms around his middle. As ashamed as he was to cause his father such distress, he had learned a valuable lesson: he was not safe aboard this ship. Judging by his father's erratic behavior, perhaps neither of them were. 

Whatever was at hand, he would root it out and see that he and his father were safe. Whatever enemy they had, he would see them punished.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Advent: To come into use

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this now because a bad wind storm blew through town and knocked out a ton of power. Apparently the storm was so bad they're calling in the national guard to help with the clean up. It's the most interesting thing to happen here in awhile. Currently sitting on a phone hot spot, so taking the chance while I have it!
> 
> Thank you everyone for your support! I love reading ally our comments and thoughts! Keep them coming!

The quintessence had done its job; he felt incredible, better than he had in years. Or Keith thought he did; his memories were still a jumbled mess. As far back as he could linearly remember, he had not felt so good. Unsurprising, since his clearest memories began with him waking in his father's suite after being moved from the medical bay. That was a hellish pain he was happy to forget. Now he felt like a new man. No convulsions of weakness, no dead limbs; his head still ached now and then from whatever head trauma he had suffered, but the attacks were few and far between. Loathe as he was to admit it, the druid venom was working. Not that he wanted to make a habit of pumping his veins with the stuff, but he had seven more vials to go and, if his heightened strength and health were any indication, he would be in far better shape by the end of his treatment than he was perhaps a year ago. 

"Have you ever had to use it?" He asked his father one night while the man was giving him his weekly injection.

Thace stared at the injection site for a long moment, watching his son's skin purple, the mottling spread from forearm, to shoulder, beneath the young man's clothing, and peeking out from the collar of his shirt. He frowned. There was too much quintessence in Keith's system. Every injection, the color spread even further. His son's entire left arm was purple, his nails dark and veins throbbing black. With another seven vials left, he wondered if his son would take on a full blooded Galra form by the end of it all.

"I have experience with quintessence." The man answered evenly, tucking the empty syringe away. 

Keith sighed, leaning his head against the wall and closing his eyes. The drug made his entire body hum, blood pulsing loudly in his ears and skin tingling warmly. The warm feelings were no longer accompanied by gut twisting pains and days of following nausea. If he didn't think of how toxic the quintessence was, he could almost enjoy the injections. Almost.

The young man's eyes opened slowly, radiating a deep, violet glow. The effects of the first injection had worn off in minutes, his son's eyes and skin returning to their original hue quickly. That was no longer the case, with the boy's system full. Thace would be seeing those violet eyes in the dark for five days. Possibly up until the next injection. If his son was still irritated by the physical malformations, he was no longer vocal about it. 

"How do you feel?"

Keith grunted. "Restless."

"It is to be expected." His son said nothing, instead staring at the empty space before him, flexing his hand distractedly. "Are you not happy with your recovery? It has only been a matter of weeks and you are sleeping on your own once more."

"Is that really a victory to be pleased of?"

"Any victory is one to be pleased of. Sometimes the small victories are the most important."

There he went, speaking in riddles again. Keith was torn between frustration and concern. Half the time, he was certain his father was trying to speak to him, hiding his meaning in cryptic stories and logic. The other half of the time, he thought the man had gone lame, all conversation skills deteriorating when his nest emptied. He had no siblings to keep the man company and his mother died in childbed, so his father was utterly alone without him. It shouldn't upset him knowing that, but it did. He felt troubled, thinking of his father alone. And he felt guilt, knowing he had made the man so.

A gentle touch to his temple startled him back to the present. Thace was leaning forward, tracing his thumb over the burn mark lingering on his temple. The concern in his father's eyes made him sick. 

"I have to train." Keith muttered, slapping his father's hand away and climbing from bed.

Thace did not argue. Words had proven ineffective when his son set his mind to something. The boy slunk off to his room, peeling off his clothing before dropping to the floor to begin a long set of push ups. The man felt a void welling inside of him, a deep chasm that grew larger, deeper, and darker each day. Every step his son took in gaining strength was a step that he took away from him. Soon, he knew, the druids would come for his child and he would be alone again; used, abandoned, and hopeless once more. 

He brought a hand to his head in an attempt to stay the dizzying thoughts. His stomach plummeted, thinking of how empty his bed felt now that the boy no longer needed to nurse from his aura. All of the kicks and blanket theft was forgiven each morning when he saw his son's peaceful slumbering expression. It was like the light of the universe found him and had settled in his son's eyes. Everyday he was blessed to see that light, to find meaning in his existence, but he would not be allowed to live in such bliss forever. Soon, he knew, they would come. Soon, he would have outlived his use even as his son came into use. 

A shiver passed over him and his hair stood on end. He turned to his son. "Did you keen for me, my child?"

Keith looked over, frozen mid push. Had he made a sound? "I--don't think so, father."

"You did." Thace was sure of it. His paternal instincts had ignited.

"I think you're imagining things, father."

"Perhaps..."

He had not imagined it, Thace knew he hadn't. If there was a single sound he knew by heart, that he could recognize a planet away, it was his child's keening. It was softer, higher in pitch than that of a normal galra child, but even had the boy held the same tone as the rest of their kind, he would always be able to tell his child's keen from others. For two blissful months he had been able to hold his tiny son to his heart, listening to his weak squalling and keening. It was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard and the lilting cries were forever etched in his heart.

His chest rumbled gently as he returned the calling, reaching out to comfort his child the way any parent would. His call was unheeded. In the other room, he watched his son sweat and toil, grunting angrily as he pushed his body to its limits and beyond. A true galra soldier. 

\----------------

The inevitable had happened. The worst thing, the most difficult had finally happened. They were gathered around the bridge, paladins and Blades alike, clustered together as they discussed their latest plan--which did not include further attempts to find Keith. It was time to move on. He knew that it had to be done, but realizing that the time was upon him made Shiro's chest tighten and his breath hitch time to time. That hope that Lance had told him to hang onto had extinguished within them all. No one had mentioned the lost paladin in several days. 

There was much to do to prepare for their next planet liberation, but he didn't have the heart to listen at the moment. He slipped away without a word, catching eyes with Kolivan and offering a gentle nod of his head in parting. He just needed a bit more time, Shiro told himself. Another day, a handful of hours more sleep. His mind was still working overtime. A bit of rest would set him back on the right course. They all needed to focus now and, as the head of Voltron, his attention was vital.

...Pity he couldn't even concentrate ten minutes before some unwanted memory of the capture thrust into his head or some crushing memory of their hidden affair. Perhaps hiding their affection had made it worse, the man mused, wandering to an observation deck and collapsing into a seat. The stars blinked weakly at him, a silent void that mocked him. 

_You lost him and now you have nothing_.

This must have been what Keith felt when he had disappeared after the Kerberos incident. He had always been proud of his lover for surviving such an ordeal. It had been no secret--not to him at any rate--that Keith was alone, without love of family or friends, and although he had claimed at the time that it did not bother him, Shiro knew that, deep down, there was pain Keith could never let go of. And yet despite the pain of being abandoned, Keith had welcomed him back, had run to him and wrapped him in his arms, had whispered sweetly to him-- _It's good to have you back--I missed you--Don't ever leave me again_. No fear. Disregarding all feelings of resentment and abandonment. 

But himself surviving a year of feeling this lost, worthless, and alone? It crushed Shiro, suffocated him day and night, plagued his dreams and thoughts endlessly. A day was torture, but a year? 

He put his head in his hands, tugging at the roots of his hair to try and find balance. Would he make it through a year of this hell? Would the guilt eventually lessen, the weight lifting to allow him to breathe? 

"Paladin."

Shiro bolted to his feet, heart hammering. What had he just been thinking? Nothing that would aide them in their cause; he had carelessly left his teammates to handle the work while he slunk off to sulk. A fine leader he was.

"Kolivan." He stood tall, forcing a welcoming look that he in no way felt.

The galran stared at him a long second, golden eyes probing him. "You wished to ask me a question."

Shiro blinked, recalling when the Blade members had boarded the Castle of Lions. Discreetness had never been his strongest suit when agitated and he had immediately woven between the others to got to Kolivan's side. Half of the question had made it past his lips when Allura commanded their attention and led them to the bridge to commence with their meeting. The man had cast him a hard look before moving past. It seems he had not been forgotten.

"Yes, I did." Shiro cleared his throat. "I was wondering if your men had--"

"Heard any word of the red paladin? No."

His heart sank. He had not expected there to be news, but the last flicker of hope he held burned surprisingly strong. "I see..."

"There has been no news since the paladin's capture." Kolivan continued. "I have dispatched messages to all of our bases and there has been no sighting or word of your comrade. You must assume the worst."

Another strike to his heart. It was the logical conclusion. He knew it, in his heart. It had been him, after all, that had told Lance to face reality and accept the death of their team mate. Apparently he was a hypocrite. 

"Thank you." 

They stared at one another for another moment. 

The galran's mouth turned down suddenly. "It is a pity to lose not only a vital member of Voltron, but a resistance member of Galra blood."

Shiro failed to see what blood had to do with it. "He was always just Keith to me."

"And, when he is written about, he will be known as the paladin of Galra heritage who fought in the name of justice and righteousness."

Kolivan left then and the dark void of space swallowed him again. It was too quiet. When it was quiet, he thought and at the moment Shiro did not feel like thinking. Thinking was exhausting. 

"Get it together, Takashi." He chided himself, returning to his seat and steadying his breathing. He needed to return to the bridge and coordinate with the others. There was work to be done. There were millions of lives at stake. When the war was over, he could mourn properly, erect a memorial, track down whatever family Keith had and make sure that his memory was properly preserved. 

He was planning a funeral. The realized struck him hard and Shiro grimaced, face crumbling. He didn't want to do any of that. But he had to. Kolivan had confirmed his worst fear. It was time to let go.

But he couldn't... Sighing, the man reached into his belt holster and pulled out the dagger that Keith had constantly kept at his side. After discovering his lover's disappearance, he had immediately gone to Keith's room and sank into his bed. The young man's scent had been heavy, filling his nostrils and causing his head to swim. When he dropped his head onto the pillow, desperate to inhale the scent of Keith's sweat and shampoo, his head struck something hard. Fishing beneath the pillow, he felt the familiar shape of the dagger's scabbard. 

He had only held it once; Keith was notoriously protective of the weapon, but he had wanted to share, wanted Shiro to see who and what he was. And Shiro had wanted to know. The Marmora sigil had glowed in the light as they leaned over the hilt, hands clasped together on the bed. 

Holding it again that moment, he wondered if Keith had ever sniffed out a trace of his galra parent. Over the past few years, he had been in contact with several Blade members, probing for any information on where the dagger was made, who the specific type of blade belonged to--anything that might lead him to his family. 

"God." He hung his head, gripping the dagger hilt and pressing the blade to his chest. " _Keith_. If you're out there, I need a sign. Something, anything. Just--please, give me a sign that you're still alive..."

\---------------------

The druids returned, but this time, they did not come for Thace. He stood aside at the door, allowing Haggar to glide past. The two men that dogged her heels remained in the hall; their masked faces turned towards him to hold his gaze a long moment before giving their backs. He ignored the shudder that ran along his arms at their odd behavior, instead turning to the witch and his son.

They had been finishing their evening meal when the knock came. No one visited anymore, so Thace knew immediately who had come calling. His son had looked at him questioningly, still blissfully unaware of the unhappy arrangement between the man and the druids. For his child's sake, he forced a grim smile and answered the door, mindful to keep his expression pleasant and open as the woman pushed her way inside.

Seeing the ancient druid striding towards him, Keith shot to his feet, chewing his food hastily and swallowing. He had heard rumors of the witch; of how powerful she was, of how terrible her magic could be. Once, she was a beautiful enchantress, a lady of such skills and unprecedented talent that the emperor had bowed to her--just once--taking her hand and asking for her services. It was an offer she could not refuse.

Centuries later, he could still see the enchantress beneath the heavy lines and folds of skin. Perhaps, she could still be a beauty, if she redirected some of her efforts upon herself. But looks were of no consequence to the galra. Her strength was what made her beautiful.

"My lady?"

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. A thrill of worry passed over Keith as she circled him, examining him from head to foot, searching for something--some weakness or flaw. Setting his mouth in a determined line, he stood straight, hands clasped at his sides. Across the room, his father looked on worriedly. There was trouble from the druids, Keith knew, but he was yet unsure what threat they posed.

"How do you find your strength?"

The soft voice seemed out of place coming from the famed sorceress. He had expected a voice of gravel and cold steel. The tone she used with him was far less severe than the one she used with his father. _Why_?

"I am well. I have recovered fully."

She scoffed, looking him up and down. "We shall see."

_How ominous_ , he thought. The witch spun, having lost interest in him and going to his father. Thace tensed, back rigid and shoulders hunched. They held gazes for a moment before the witch's mouth upturned.

"Lieutenant Thace, I have good news for you."

He forced his face to remain neutral. "Yes, lady Haggar?"

"The emperor sent me to check in on---your son. He wishes for a progress report."

That was the furthest thing from good news to Thace.

"I will inform him that your son has taken to the quintessence injections gifted to him and is fit to return to the battlefield."

Keith's attention piqued, hearing the news. It was good news. Every day was torture, sitting in the suite, dying of tedium. His muscles itched to be stretched. His body constantly hummed, demanding that he be up and about. Laying in wait, waiting to come into use, was not something he was accustomed to. His soul felt as though it were languishing, shriveling up and dying with each passing minute. Although his father called it dramatic, he felt it was an accurate description of his crippling boredom. 

He had taken a step forward to ask about what type of placement he might expect when his father spoke.

"Surely he needs more time. He was gravely wounded. He is still besieged with head pains that send him to bed." He spoke that last bit with no small bit of acid to his tone, unable to forget the image of the druids pouring their magic into his son's head. 

"Time is not a resource we have." Haggar replied coolly, her eyes sliding back to find the boy staring eagerly. "Besides, I am confident in his prowess."

The conversation ended there. Had Thace wished to argue further, he would have jeopardized both his safety and his son's. He lowered his head, submitting to her will. With no further opposition, the witch left, a smug grin twisting her face. When he looked up once more, his son was staring at the door expectantly, as if the witch might return with further tantalizing details. 

It was as he feared. He had known that the druids would come for his son. He had hoped that it would be much later though, had hoped that he might have just a bit more time to keep his child safe and watch over him. As the witch had said, time was not a commodity they were willing to barter with. The child was on his feet again, fit and itching to be of use. It was time for them to see if their master plan would bear fruit.

Keith's eyes gleamed, the violet glow still present in his sclera. He was ready to be used. Their plan would bear much fruit, Thace realized with a painful clench of his heart. Half blood or no, his son was a galra through and through. Only death or victory would stop him; no wound would keep him still for long. He played right into the emperor's hands.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for this taking so long. Got very sidetracked with work and life. 
> 
> Thank you everyone for your great reviews and kudos! If you ever wanna find me on tumblr I'm at the same handle (Kittypox)
> 
> Hope you enjoy! Let me know!

He would need to get a full rundown of just how bad his injuries were because, as was, Keith was fairly certain he had sustained brain damage. Sitting in the cockpit of the drone ship, he realized with some alarm that he could not understand the various screens and control panel captions. If he stared long enough, he could decipher some of the simpler words, but when a full screen of text popped up before his eyes he was utterly lost. 

"Father, can I not read?" He asked in distress at evening meal. It seemed impossible that someone as highly skilled as he was illiterate...but after the rather frustrating day he had, Keith was no longer sure.

Thace chuckled at the notion, pouring his son a steaming cup of calming herbs. "You can read just fine."

"Then why couldn't I today?! I sat in that ship for ten minutes just staring at the control panels! I looked like a fool!"

"Your instructors know that you're recovering; that is why you're taking private lessons before you're placed back into a flight unit."

That did not ease his mind. He lamented his poor performance the remainder of the evening, probing his father repeatedly on whether he had sustained a head injury so bad his brains had been scrambled. A pilot as experienced as him should not have faltered so badly at the controls, losing equilibrium and nearly colliding with the test markers. 

"You haven't flown one of these ships before." Thace soothed, pushing his son to bed. "There will be a learning curve. You are a skilled pilot; you will be outmaneuvering others again before you know it."

There was an incessant stream of complaints for another few minutes until exhaustion took over and his son fell asleep. Thace remained by his side, perched on the edge of the young man's bed, running his fingers through his son's soft hair. He should not take joy in his child's distress, but he could not help but feel a small flicker of satisfaction, knowing that Haggar's mind control was imperfect. Whether oversight or an inconvenient piece of work that they refused to put time into, he was unsure, but all that truly mattered was that she had not completely turned his son's mind. Perhaps in time, Keith might remember his old life. With a little nudge from him, his child might come back to his senses.

"Rest well, my child." He leaned over, kissing the burn mark at the young man's temple, and hummed softly.

As he retreated from the room, a shiver ran up is spine. Turning, he grunted softly at his sleeping child. A soft, high keen was returned.

\------------

After a full week of fantastical, ego crushing failures, Keith was in a spitting rage. 

"I will quit!" He threatened, kicking viciously at the wall.

His father regarded his temper casually, as if he were used to such irrational displays of anger. 

"Are you done? If not, at least refrain from leaving dents in our walls. It's difficult getting the facility maintenance crew down here for repairs."

Keith glowered at him, unappreciative. "Father!"

"Hush. Your complaining is unbecoming of someone with your talent."

"What talent?! I'm a poor pilot who can't even read!" He threw himself into the seat across from his father, ignoring the man's amused laughter. "It is _not_ funny."

Thace smiled pleasantly, enjoying the fit, despite the damage done to the wall. His son was a galra through and through, regardless of his pale, hairless skin. He could not help but be amused, seeing such anger in his small child. Even so, he knew he ought to be supportive. 

"Here." 

Keith caught a strange piece of technology in his hands, turning it over as he puzzled over its purpose. "You're giving me....glasses?"

"Not glasses; your eyesight is fine. It's a translating device. You've used them before, I'm sure. Or perhaps not, as a pilot; it's standard equipment for foot soldiers who have to descend to the colonies and fraternize with the locals. I've reversed the controls so that you should be able to translate the Galran text you see. Perhaps that will help you focus."

How patronizing, Keith thought, sliding the screen over his eyes. But if it helped, it helped. His father handed him a tablet with a page of text; sadly, not the mysterious tablet that the druids had given the man for some mysterious purpose. The screen over his eyes flashed briefly, the text swimming, morphing from indecipherable hieroglyphs to words he could actually comprehend. 

"Impressive..."

"Use it wisely." Thace warned, already considering the trouble his son could get into. Unruly as his child was though, he did not think that Keith would be so foolish as to go spying to satisfy personal curiosity or hacking into intelligence systems for the thrill of it. He hoped. He wasn't entirely sure what type of man his son had grown into. 

Keith dismissed his worries with an offhanded remark, taking his new toy to his room to start studying the manuals his father had given him. Under normal circumstances he would not be running off to study like a novice cadet, but he was ridiculously elated with his gift. An entire world was opened up to him. 

\---------------------------

The witch was pleased. It was not so easy as to tell by way of a smile, but Thace could tell in the way that her eyes glowed brighter and her nails thrummed against his report that she was pleased. He stared steadily at her face, awaiting her response. 

"This is all you have uncovered?" She asked at length, scanning through the carefully prepared report.

"As of now." Thace said softly. "They are a tight knit community and, as near as I can tell, they are few in number. I imagine that many are killed in battle before they are identified. As such, there is not much data to glean from the little your interrogators are able to pry from them."

Her face puckered at the thinly veiled slight to her men's interrogation skills, but she allowed the indignant remark. "You have done well, though your work lacks much to be desired. I will take this report to the emperor. You are to continue with your assignment. Find us a location. Root out the traitors. Continue to serve the emperor well and you may yet be safe."

He had nothing to say to that. Her word could not be trusted. 

Concern rose suddenly, seeing that the witch was not leaving. Her eyes were roaming over the apartment, searching for something. He had nothing to hide, so he did not need to worry, Thace thought. She would find nothing. Still, he worried. The witch could find anything and twist it into some proof of his treachery. 

She glided to their table and picked up an audio device that Keith had been using to review regulations. 

"Your son is progressing well." She remarked, turning the device over in her hand. "So well in fact, he's been assigned to a unit of fighter ships."

"I have heard, yes."

"The emperor is pleased with his progress. I would not be surprised to soon find him placed in a rank fitting his talent."

Thace refused to respond. He knew such a thing would happen. He did not need to be provoked. He endured several more barbs, maintaining his cool facade until Haggar had said her fill, made the threats she needed, and left. 

He was meant to feel endangered and helpless. The joke was on her; he had felt that way for weeks. Nothing she said or did could make him feel any more anxious than he already was. He had surrendered his child to the call of war, to the guidance of his greatest enemy. If there was anything worse than that, Thace did not wish to know of it.

Each day, his son left the safety of their apartments, intent on carving out a niche for and earning a name for himself. Each evening he returned, grinning ear to ear, with some new exploit to brag about. Unsurprisingly, he rose in the ranks quickly. He went from training, to small unit practice, to small unit missions. 

And for his part he had to applaud his child. He had to force a smile and congratulate him, as if it were the greatest joy to him as a father, to see his son flourish under the empire's wing. Finally, during the many evenings he lay awake and worried for his son, did he alight on the true purpose they would put him to. Stupid of him not to have realized it sooner, really. Soon--much sooner than he cared to think of, if his son's growth were any indication--Keith would be flying at the head of a team, his course set straight for the last team he had been a member of. When that time came, he could only pray that Voltron would not immediately destroy all the ships turned against them and murder their former ally. His son. 

When Keith returned that evening, he had their meal laid out, a serious expression on his face.

"Did something happen?" Keith asked, his grin falling.

"Sit. I wish to discuss a pressing matter with you." The cameras were still watching, he knew, but it was a risk he was willing to take.

His son sat, eyeing the plate of food a moment before ignoring it in favor of staring at him. "Yes, father? Are you upset?"

"Bless you, child, not at you."

"At who then?" He had been dying to interrogate his father for weeks now and it seemed at last the man was ready to open up to him.

He had to choose his words wisely, Thace thought. To give too much away could spell disaster for them both. There were ears in every corner, but he had to warn his son. If he was punished for his indiscretion then so be it.

"You're growing strong again, rediscovering your strengths and putting your talent to good use."

"Yes. And?" Keith raised an eyebrow, confused as to how that would upset his father.

The man shut his eyes and took a deep breath. "I worry for you, my son." He opened his eyes and found his son staring at him anxiously, heeding every word. Good. He needed to listen. "Your talents are vast, your skills unprecedented. Soon, you will be even greater than you were before. But with skill such as yours, there is danger."

"Danger?" 

"Danger. There are those who would exploit your greatness, others who would snuff it out."

"Competition is to be expected." Keith reasoned.

"I'm not talking about competition." Thace snapped. "There are people who wish you dead, people who would think nothing of killing one so young. You must always be careful, mindful of those who you surround yourself with and those whom you battle. Know who your true enemy is. It is not always who you believe it to be."

Keith stared, his gut churning. Once again he could sense that his father was struggling to tell him something, but he was just shy of understanding. He knew there was danger, but he did not know yet what form it took and from which direction he should expect it. His comrades in arms were cold and aloft, resentful at times, but they did not seem desperate enough to pick a fight with him. 

Who then was a threat?

"Father, if you would just be direct with me--"

"Watch your back, my son. I do not want to see a knife protruding from it. I have no interest in burying my only child."

There was no more he could say without incriminating himself, Thace realized. He clenched his fists, frustrated beyond reason. His son was watching his expression with wide eyes, desperate to hear more, desperate to know the enemy that lurked in their very room. The truth would have to come out slowly, piecemeal, so as not to be noticed. He prayed again that they had that amount of time and that his son had the patience to continue to listen to him. 

He stood. "Finish your dinner and get to bed. You need to keep up your strength. You'll have another injection tomorrow."

"Father! Just speak to me! Who is threatening us?!" Keith jumped to his feet, trailing after the man as he made for his bedroom. "What's happening?! You need to tell me!"

His demands were hushed, brushed aside with a calming word that meant nothing to him. How was he supposed to stay calm and sleep when he was being told that there were dangers threatening his life? Threatening both of their lives. 

His father was an immovable stone though. He pleaded, argued, even made threats of his own, but all the man would say is that he would understand in due time. 

Keith went to bed frustrated, angry, and worried. Danger was part and par with his duty, but what his father hinted at was darker. Treachery was lurking somewhere. Sabotage was coming, so the man said. But _where_? he tossed for hours, pondering his daily interactions, trying to root out a face that scowled at him more fiercely than others, trying to think of any word or deed that stood out as unusual. Where was this treachery coming from? He was going mad.

Sometime in the late hours of the night his father entered with a glass of warm herbs to sooth his nerves and put him to sleep. He pressed the man again for details, but his father acted as if nothing had been said. All was well and he just needed to get some rest. He responded to that suggestion with a dark scowl, but his father merely crooned at him, ruffling his hair affectionately before returning to his own bed.

The drink did its job and soon he was asleep, but still he was restless. Every hour or so he awoke from a nightmare, sweating and reeling, unsure if he was trapped in a surreal dreamscape or back in relative safety. His father came to him again with another drink and a pill this time. 

"You were never this paternal before." He murmured tiredly, swallowing the pill and downing the drink.

Thace hummed, choosing not to comment. 

The dreams that came next were somewhat safer, less worrisome, but far more perplexing. The stars were streaming by at lightspeed as he flew through them in a....some kind of warship, similar to the shell he had seen weeks ago in the hangar. The world spun as he dashed through the constellations and then--he was in his bed. Or someone's bed. The clothes were being torn from his body, but he wasn't frightened. He was elated, pulling at the other person's clothing and growling in anticipation. 

This dream seemed familiar, as though he had had it a hundred times before, but when he saw his phantom lover's face he could not place it. Dark eyes stared at him with a depth of love he had only ever seen in his father. There was a much different feel to that passionate gaze though. Clearly it was a self-indulgent dream, he told himself the next morning, but at the time he lost himself in those eyes. 

The harsh buzzer of his alarm jarred him from sleep just as his dream began to grow interesting. In the interior room, he could hear his father shuffling about, preparing their morning meal. He took several minutes to allow himself to wake fully, flashes of the dream burning vividly in his memory. Who was that man? A former comrade? A one night stand he had happened to be fond of? Perhaps it wasn't even a real man, just a figment he had conjured in the throws of need. In the end, he decided it was likely the latter. Very few soldiers appeared as pale and small as that man and it was natural that his mind would provide him with a bit of amusement, now that he was healed up. He had been fit and able for at least a month. Natural urges would rise.

After a brief shower, he joined his father in the interior room. There was an unspoken agreement not to mention what had transpired the prior evening, though Thace knew his son was itching to interrogate him. 

"Did you sleep well, my child?"

Keith shrugged, recalling the deep eyes from his dream. "Better the second half of the night."

"I heard you groaning. Were you having a nightmare?"

"Maybe. I'm not sure what it was."

As soon as he had finished eating, Keith dressed for the day, pulling on his flight gear and the translator his father had given him. The man's eyes followed him as he tugged his boots into place and tucked his helmet beneath his arm, ready to take on the day. 

"You have another mission, I assume." Thace remarked quietly.

"A brief one." Keith scrubbed at a smudge on his helmet. "Afterwards there's a mandatory training session and meeting."

"A meeting? For the pilots?"

"For all battle units, apparently."

Suspicion rose suddenly. "What is this meeting about, Keith?"

He looked to his father, surprised that the man had such interest. "Review of the most recent and powerful opposition forces to the empire, from what I hear. Something about specific colonies attempting to enforce their own laws and a battle fleet. Some....impressive war machine. I forgot what it was called. Vol---Voltrain? Voltaire?"

"Voltron?" Thace offered.

"Yes, that was it. I've never heard of it, or I can't remember it at least, so this will be a good time for me to catch up."

His father fell silent, face drawn tightly. Keith's own suspicions piqued. Had he stumbled upon something? As soon as he had mentioned this warship, his father had turned cold. Perhaps this was the mysterious enemy that he needed to be wary of. 

"I'll take notes, father." He said gently. "I'll tell you what I hear."

The man only stared at him. Thinking that he would not receive any further word, Keith headed for the door. Before it slid open, his father caught his arm and pulled him back. He was enveloped suddenly in a dwarfing embrace, face pressed to a mat of thick chest hair. Hesitantly, he returned the gesture, his small arms barely making it around the man's middle. 

The hair on top of his head stirred as the man spoke. "Stay safe, my child."

Keith nodded against his chest, feeling the urge to protect rising. "I will, father. I promise."

He had not forgotten his silent pledge to sniff out the threat to himself and his father. He would pay special attention that day, looking for any clue as to their enemy. This Voltron seemed the key to the matter. Perhaps he now had a name to place to the enemy.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cracks have started to appear in the careful weavings the druids had made in Keith's mind, but still Thace worried as his son fell deeper into the mindless congregation of those who would do as the emperor willed, no hesitation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're here! Matters will start getting very interesting in the next few chapters as the druids' plans start budding. 
> 
> Thank you all for sticking around and reading! I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Shiro stared hard at the tablet before him, forcing himself to focus. None of the words made much sense to him, so he listened as the Blade members described the importance of the resources that had been mined from various planets. It seemed that emperor Zarkon had already bounced back from his latest defeat and had a new scheme. 

"Should we be worried about it?" Hunk had asked, scrolling through the lists of various metals as if it meant something to him.

Pidge hummed, also reviewing the list. "Some of these compounds are dangerous to put together, but others could have great potential, if forged together under the right circumstances. Many of these are metals or contain a metal base, so I think we can assume that Zarkon is building something."

"You assume correctly." Kolivan's voice boomed in the tight quarters of their meeting room. "These resources were used to build the emperor's fleet many years ago. They have been mined to near extinction, and thus Zarkon sought after new materials to complete and maintain his fleet. These mines have remained unused, under strict guard for many years. For them to be put back to use is a sign of ill to come."

"How ill of an omen is it?" Shiro asked "You said he used this stuff to build his first fleet. What could he be building now?"

Stupid question. He kicked himself as soon as he had asked; all eyes turned to him, some pitying, others condemning. 

_Get your head in the game, Takashi._

Kolivan continued, his mouth turning down with the beginnings of a displeased snarl. "We can safely assume that Zarkon is forging a new battleship, one built with the sole purpose of destroying Voltron."

"Is that even possible?" Hunk demanded.

They entered a fierce debate then. The ore that had been used to create the lions was long gone, but that did not mean there was no substance comparable to it. What Zarkon was forging could become a very serious threat to them. It was even possible that there was ore from another meteor crash on a different planet. How likely was that scenario? Pidge began doing calculations. 

The meeting finished with a flurry of frustrated sighs and growls. Kolivan bid them farewell,intent on sending out tasks to his spies to glean further details on the use the ore was put to. Thus far, he had told them, none of his spies had heard of any great building projects, but that meant nothing. They had to dig deeper.

Shiro caught the man before he entered his ship to depart.

"Wait. I--have something I need to return to you."

The blade member paused, fixing him with a mildly curious expression.

Taking a steadying breath, Shiro pulled the dagger from his side and presented it to Kolivan reverently. 

"The red paladin's blade." The galra reached for it then hesitated. "You are returning it to us?"

Shiro frowned, eyes moving over the wrapped hilt and gleaming edge. "It seemed only right. I know that these blades are rare and they must be sought after. Keith said something about their material not even being available anymore. It should go to a new owner."

His heart ached to say it. He had fought with himself for days, agonizing over this decision. The blade was locked, stuck as a small dagger. Only Keith had been able to properly wield it. With him gone, it was of use to no one else. Perhaps it could be of use to another Blade member though. Much as he wished to keep it as a momento of his lost love, Shiro knew that Keith would wish to pass it on.

Kolivan stared at the blade a moment. "He had no offspring?"

"Offspring?" Shiro blinked, caught off guard by the strange question. "No, he was only---no. We never--no."

"You misunderstand the importance of our weapons, paladin. The blades are sacred, meant to be wielded by the Blade of Marmora themselves, but they are also heirlooms. Our organization thrives on families. Your mate came by his blade through his parentage, as many other members come to hold theirs. Has he no bloodkin?"

Apparently mates did not count as kin. It was fine, Shiro told himself, fighting the urge to draw the offered dagger back. "No, he has no family."

With a firm nod, Kolivan reached forward and took the dagger from his hands. "Then I will take it and the blade shall be retired."

"Retired?"

"Each weapon is a symbol of a family, a bloodline. When there is no longer any kin for the blade to pass to, when the bloodline has ended, so too must the blade's life end. It will be enshrined among the rest of the retired blades."

There must be hundreds of retired blades, Shiro thought. He tried to picture it, thinking of long rooms lined with the swords of the fallen, their family names and crests engraved in a commemorative placard below their cherished heirloom. Now there was another name to add to the pantheon of fallen families. Somewhere in those aisles of names Keith's blade would stand, a silent sentinel guarding his memory. 

But no one would remember him, Shiro knew. They might be able to trace the routes of his bloodline in the great catalog of the family names and weaponry in the Blade's vast archives, but no one they had encountered had any notion who Keith's parents might be. For all they knew, his family line had been dormant, each respective member holding onto the sword out of duty but otherwise remaining out of the war. By sheer luck, it had fallen into Keith's lap and he had taken up the cause.

Reluctantly, Shiro stepped back, clenching his fists lest he do something reckless, like lunge for the dagger and take it back. The Blade leader regarded him with a cold, practical eye, as if sensing his inner turmoil.

"I am sorry for your loss, paladin."

Shiro felt himself deflate, his back slouching and shoulders hunching. "I...appreciate your kind words." The galra turned to leave, but Shiro had one final question. "Will he be remembered?"

He had to be; that was the only way Shiro could continue on. He could mourn, he could enshrine his lover's memory, but he had to know that he would not be the only one to hold the torch for Keith's memory. They had touched so many lives, surely there were those who looked kindly upon the Red Paladin. The Blade of Marmora would help keep the flame ablaze for one of their own.

Kolivan scoffed at the idea. "That depends on you, Shiro."

"What?"

"You lead the charge as head of Voltron. His memory hinges on your success. Should you fail and Zarkon remains supreme ruler of the universe, your lover will be nothing. His name will be forgotten, as will the bravery of Voltron and your allies. If you wish for your lover to be remembered, then win this war."

Shiro mulled over the man's words for many hours. He did not need any motivation to fight this battle or to win the war. All of the death and destruction he had seen, the torment he had personally endured, was enough to drive him. 

Kolivan's words lit a fire beneath him all the same. He would win this war. He would do it for Keith. 

\------------------------------------

"It's a giant...thing."

Thace growled lightly, fixing his son with a stern look. When Keith had promised to report back to him about the lecture the soldiers were required to attend he had expected a summary with notes. Bullet points at the very least. What he got was a jumbled mess of thoughts incoherently strung together. He prayed there was nothing he needed to know; his son was a poor orator.

"A _thing_?" he echoed in annoyance.

Keith waved his hand in the air, as if the gesture might help produce an array of words to better explain what he had seen and heard. "It's a...a robot. Five separate battleships combine to form one giant robot. I don't know father, the whole thing sounds ridiculous."

"Ridiculous?" Thace laughed. "That ridiculous robot has been thwarting the emperor's efforts of empire expansion and colonization for years."

"I wager the pilots have something to do with that because the robot itself is laughable. Who even designed that monstrosity? Lions, of all things..." Keith chuckled. 

"The pilots are a large part of why Voltron has prevailed for so long, but you must not forget that the lions themselves are masterpieces of machinery. Their ability to adapt to their pilots and the opposition about them make them dangerous artillery. In the right hands, a Voltron lion could destroy the empire on its own."

Keith stared, trying to reconcile his father's words with the images of the lions he had seen during the lecture. Each battleship's design was unique, he would grant that, but he could not move past the fact that they were designed as animals. Why such art? A ship was a ship. Perhaps if the little rebels weren't flying around in ships shaped like animals they might garner more respect. 

For his part, he was not impressed. Each one of those beasts, he found a flaw in. He knew how to counter them. Even when the great robot was formed, he could see glaring problems with their attack and defense. Five pilots battling to control a single robot as great as that would surely cause problems. When it had been revealed that each pilot remained in the head of their beast, he had laughed out loud. 

"How disorienting." he had whispered sardonically to the sentry seated next to him. 

The man regarded him with a strange look before returning his attention to the lecture.

"You speak as if you've encountered Voltran--"

"Voltron."

"Voltron before."

Thace frowned, considering how much he ought to reveal. "I have. So have you."

That news gave Keith pause. "I have?" Nothing he had seen or heard that day had triggered any memories and he felt certain that he would have recalled battling a giant robot or flying lions. 

Without answering, his father moved away from the table, making himself busy cleaning up after their meal. It was time for him to be patient, Keith told himself with a frown. Pestering his father never worked, but sitting quietly, allowing the man to think and consider, often yielded results. So he sat quietly and waited, taking up his tablet and scanning through some of the reports he had fallen behind reading. 

Before he was too engrossed in an article on new combative weaponry, his father set a cup of herbs in front of him.

"Drink. You're having nightmares again."

Keith stared at the cup, thinking to himself that it was not nightmares that he was frequently having. Not that he could tell his father the type of dreams they really were. He would keep that to himself, thank you very much. The man already babied him far more than needed; he cringed to think of the type of 'my boy is all grown up' nonsense the man might spew.

He diverted those thoughts with matters of more interest. "So....I've fought Voltron before? And you have?"

"I'm no pilot." Thace said, sipping his own herbs. "I was aboard the ship when they attacked emperor Zarkon. They were an impressive sight."

Keith scoffed. "I hear the only reason they succeeded during that mission is because some traitor damaged the control center and the barrier collapsed, allowing them to escape."

Thace felt his heart stop a moment. Such scorn. It hurt, hearing the tone and damning words come from his son's lips. He was a confused child, Thace reminded himself. The druids had tainted his mind and turned ally to enemy. He wondered though what his son would think if he knew just who that traitor was. Could druid magic turn love to hate?

"Were they the ones who---did they cause my accident?" Keith asked, sliding his fingers beneath his hair and finding the raised edge of a scar there. 

"No." Thace was quick to answer. "They had nothing to do with that. You met them...under different circumstances."

"Oh? A hand to hand battle?"

"I don't know."

"Did we fight at one of the colonies?"

"I don't know, my son."

Keith growled softly, growing frustrated. " _Father_."

To his surprise, the man growled a warning in return and immediately he shrank back. Keith was growing exhausted with this push and pull, learning when and were to tread and what questions to ask. Most of the time he never received real answers to his queries. His father spoke in riddles and it drove him mad trying to puzzle through them. Why waste the time trying to decipher them. 

He stood, refusing to meet his father's eyes. "I'm going to get ready."

"Ready?"

"I'm going to the arena."

Again Thace's heart stopped. "The arena? For what?!"

He grabbed his son's wrist, crushing it in his grip. A whimper tore from Keith's throat as he was stunned by the sudden vice. He twisted wildly and almost broke free, but his father was quicker and readjusted his grip. With a single sharp squeeze, the man had him on his knees, fighting not to cry out in pain. 

"You are not to go! I would never allow it! Your life is too precious!"

"What are you talking about?! I'm not going to fight, I'm going to watch!"

"To...watch?" Thace loosened his grip, though he refused to release his child until he had full details. "Why are you going to watch? There is no need for you to see that brutality."

Relief flooded Keith's mind as the pain in his arm lessened. He took a deep breath, his head swimming. "I...was invited to go. By some of my unit members."

For some reason, Thace was surprised. He was so used to having his son all to himself. Listening to the guarded, vague way the young man spoke, he had a difficult time imagining his son socializing. Surely it wasn't such a ludicrous notion. Even the galra were social creatures, although their socialization tended to differ vastly from other species. And he could not forget that his son had been intimately close to his paladin comrades. 

"You were invited? By friends?" He released his hold on the boy's wrist.

"No." Keith rubbed at his tender wrist, silently marveling at how vicious his father could be. "I don't think I have friends. They're just...comrades."

"Perhaps they will become your friends." The man offered gently, pulling his son to his feet. 

Keith hesitated to answer. He didn't recall his life aboard his last vessel, but he had a sinking feeling that he was not well liked. Occasionally, he thought he had glimpses into his past life, seeing faces and hearing voices from what felt like another lifetime. Or maybe they were simply hallucinations brought on by brain trauma and quintessence injections.

"Father...do you think people liked me? Did I have friends? Did I ever tell you anything when we spoke? I don't remember anything...I feel lost."

A pang of distress touched Thace's heart. "Unfortunately, my child, I do not know. You were very guarded with what you allowed me to know." A simple lie that hurt to tell.

"Oh." He was crestfallen. 

He was being stupid, Keith chastised himself. He was a galra soldier. He didn't need friends. Friends were a luxury the idle had. If you had friends, you were probably a pushover. His father didn't have friends and he was the greatest soldier he knew of. Even so, he had learned that companionship was pleasant. Having an ear at his disposal that did not belong to his father was relaxing. 

He dared to look at the man from under the fall of his unruly hair. "May I go, father?"

Much as Thace wished to forbid it, he found he could not. The horrid mission the druids had set his son upon robbed the child of so much. A friendly face among a hostile sea of others could be just what his son needed to keep his spirits lifted. With a gentle smile, he smoothed out the tangles from Keith's hair and nudged him to his room.

"Go, clean yourself up. But you must be back here before the evening's high bell. You are not to be out all night. You're a terror when you don't get enough rest."

Keith smiled, his eyes lighting in joy. He wasted no time pulling himself together and running for the door. _Stupid_ , he kept calling himself. There was absolutely no reason to be so excited. Even so, he embrace his father quickly before running to the common room where his comrades had agreed to meet.

\--------------------

A roar of approval carried his ears long before they reached the entrance to the arena. The hallways hummed with battle cries and screams. The air was thick with the call for blood. Keith felt his own heart begin to hammer in excitement as they passed into the deafening crowd and wormed their way through the mass, jockeying for decent positions to see the ring. Never had he seen anything like it before--not that he could remember at least. No few annoyed glances were thrown his way, seeing how small he was compared to his fellow soldiers, but he managed to elbow his way through and find a decent vantage regardless. Shoved between the two who had invited him, he was acutely aware of how tiny he was comparatively. It reminded him that he still hadn't managed to get a clear answer from his father as to just how exotic his tastes ran and what strange species his mother had been.

"There's a new champion." His unit member hissed, leaning down to his ear so his words would not be lost in the din.

Keith craned his neck to stare up at him; he had such horrible neck pains from all of the looking up he had to do. There always seemed to be a foot or more between his eyes and his comrades'. "A champion? Is this a ranking system?"

Their other companion scoffed at his question. "There is a survival system. A champion survives the ring."

"Yes," Keith growled, "but how many survivals does one need before earning the title 'champion'?"

Judging by the snarl his comrade shot him, that was not a stupid question. 

"Many." Was all the man offered before turning his attention to the empty ring.

The stadium was packed; officers, footmen, and civilians alike had flocked in droves to see the fights. There was some sport to it, but Keith had trouble discerning what the rules were. Some of the participants seemed like well seasoned warriors who had seen the inside of the ring many times before. Others appeared to be nothing but expendable prisoners, shoved unwillingly into the fray. It hardly seemed like fair treatment, pitting a malnourished novice against a ring champion, but the crowd roared all the same, no matter who fell. 

Given the circumstances, Keith found himself rooting for the weak ones. The galra soldiers were circling them, stronger, faster, and better armed than the cowering prisoners. Unfair advantage didn't make for an honorable win, in his opinion. When a short, furry beast managed to score a hit on the nearest galra, he felt his spirits swell and he leaped to his feet to cheer. It was short lived happiness; within a minute the prisoner was caught and laid out, the galra forgoing his weapon and instead beating the thing's brains loose with a fist.

Keith hissed, stepping back and falling into his seat. 

"What?" His comrade sneered at him. "Can't stand the sight of blood?"

Blood he could stomach, but Keith had never seen entrails before, not with his own two eyes, so close before him. Were they just a few stands closer, he thought they might even feel the spray of brain matter as the galra lifted his fist for another blow. It was brutal and barbaric. He had no idea why he hadn't the stomach for it.

"Is--Is that the champion?" He asked, eyes trained on the blood soaked galra.

"The champion is a slave." His comrade barked. "They are always slaves."

"The slaves always die." He argued.

"So?"

He shook his head; there was no way to reason through it. An hour passed and the battle fodder was growing thin. A slick sheen of blood made the arena floor gleam beneath the lights and still the crowd demanded more. The ring cleared suddenly and he thought that perhaps they were cleaning, gathering up the dead to be properly disposed of. His comrade elbowed him harshly.

"Pay attention now! The champion is next. They're going to release the beasts on him."

Keith hesitated to respond. He felt a strange pull in his stomach, as if upset. _Funny_ , he thought. There was no reason for him to be concerned. 

A lone warrior entered the ring, barely taller than he, with six well muscled arms wielding weapons. Keith canted his head, scrutinizing the warrior. So that was the champion. There did not appear to be anything overly grand about him. He looked rather ordinary. When the yapping monsters were released from their pen and began circling, Keith thought that this would surely be the end of the man. 

One of the creatures rushed in, jowls wide, snapping at the champion's feet as he darted away. Another beast swept in, aiming for his back, but was sent sprawling with a slash to its belly. Keith held his breath, tense and worried. The monsters were getting closer, edging in. For every counter blow the champion made, he took another three. Flesh was torn from his body in great chunks, feeding the animals' frenzy until they were high off of bloodlust. 

"This is a weak champion." One of his comrades said, displeased with the spectacle.

Keith turned his head to ask a question, but the words lodged in his throat as the crowd jumped to their feet, cheering as one of the beasts grabbed hold of an arm and tore it from the champion's body. He cringed as the man staggered backwards, providing the others with the opening they needed to dart in and sink their fangs in.

This was no warrior, Keith thought as he stared in wonder while the man was torn to pieces. This was another prisoner, slightly larger and more skilled than the others, but not a real warrior. Luck had seen him through the battles with other prisoners and galra soldiers. If he had known what he would later face, would the champion have allowed himself to die earlier? Was accepting death and giving in better than being eviscerated for public enjoyment?

He doubled over suddenly, a shock of pain lancing through his temple. A hand fell on his back, his comrade jokingly asking if he couldn't handle the sight. _Not that_ , he tried to say. He could handle death. He was galra. Forcing a grin, he climbed back to his feet, offering a weak cheer before a thundering pain forced him to his knees.

Something was inside his head, Keith thought frantically. Something had wormed its way in days ago and had grown fat and strong in his grey matter and was now bursting free. Intense pressure crushed his mind like a vice, his eyeballs throbbing. 

"What's wrong?" The hand returned to his back as another tugged at his elbow, urging him up.

Keith coughed, his throat suddenly dripping in saliva. "I'm--sick."

The two comrades who had accompanied him shared a skeptical look.

Panic turned to fear and he acted a coward and ran. He shoved through the crowd, toppling some and taking a number of blows from agitated spectators. His feet crumpled beneath him several times and had he not been shoved often, he feared he might not have made it to the exit. 

His brain was pounding against his skull, threatening to spill loose. If he could get back to his room, back to his father, he would be alright. Father would know what to do. But walking was impossible. For every step he took, he fell, his legs growing weaker and weaker until he was all but crawling, screaming for aid. His cries were drowned by the excitement from the arena. 

Curling in on himself provided minimal comfort. With head between his knees, he could almost muddle through the haze of pain and think. He keened softly, desperate, wondering if his father might hear him. He prayed so. After gathering his breath, he dragged himself another several feet before his strength failed. 

He tugged at his hair, praying that the minor irritation might distract him from the mind obliterating pain. Strange hiccuping mewls were bubbling from his chest and he hadn't the power to stop them. Only when a pair of strong arms hoisted him to his feet and a deep, rumbling keen washed through him did the pain lessen enough for him to truly gain his bearings. His feet stayed underneath him as his father guided him, but before long his head was splitting again and he could do nothing but cry in agony.

Thace scooped the boy into his arms, feeling the small body shudder and convulse against him. He had no remedy for this fit, whatever it was. There was but one solution, though it went against every instinct he possessed. He had to seek aid from the druids.


End file.
